The Silver Protector and Me
by Damsellefly
Summary: A group of young Jellicles are rescued by a mysterious stranger. Who is he and what does he want with them? And can he really be trusted? A story about cats. Rated M for strong language, graphic depictions of violence and smut.
1. Prologue

Finally, the story I've always wanted to write is here.

Warnings: contains elements of British humour and culture which some readers may find hard to understand.

Also: Smut- more as the story goes on; plus a bit of misogyny and misandry, violence against females, protagonist engaging with multiple sexual partners, animal sex, age gap, love square, drug use, chain smoking, brutality and death, NONE OF WHICH I CONDONE.

In film terms, this would probably be an 18+, so if you are under that age, I'd recommend not reading, though obviously I can't exactly stop you. Please don't send me hate messages if you fail to heed the warnings.

I own nothing special apart from my OCs.

* * *

**Prologue**

**Thursday 26th May 1983**

**One year after the Jellicle Ball.**

**Full moon**

_Rain drifts down like a misted flood,_

_Soaks the ground with tears of blood,_

_Decorating lips that have frozen mid breath,_

_Awaiting the chilling arms of death,_

_A warrior tired of fighting, sick of being brave,_

_Of being beaten down like a lowlife slave,_

_This is his work, but it is no more,_

_The truth strikes right to the core,_

_That he's leaving the one who lit the ardent flame,_

_And with the last of his strength, he calls her name._


	2. Eyes

**Seven Days Earlier**

**Thursday 19th May**

**First Quarter**

A pair of dichroic eyes studied the young queen with keen interest, watching her as she danced and sang as part of a quartet.

Like two pools of flaming fire, they sparkled with aqua and gold, his slitted pupils dilating in the dim glow as they momentarily collided with her empyrean gaze, while the words she lamented stirred his emotions as though she were an angel wailing on a lost mountain:

_"Et dès que je l'aperçois... Alors je sens en moi, mon coeur qui bat... La vie..."_

He couldn't understand their meaning, but her wistful voice made up for his lack of comprehension, tugging at his steadfast heart like nothing he'd ever heard before.

Her backing performers were equally divine, but they could not divert his attention, for there was no doubt in his mind that this belle was a vision to admire all on her own.

Judging by her velvety fur, which was clearly visible beneath the frills of lace and strips of glittering satin that she and all the other dancers were wearing, she was of Siamese descent, bearing a mixture of the usual cream and light chestnut, darkening to a sable that extended all the way down her elfin arms and legs. But what was unusual was the striking contrast of her white paws and feet, which made her look as though she was wearing a set of fetching gloves and boots. Her chest was pure white too, as was her muzzle, but with a hood of brown that accentuated her Arctic eyes, making them shine more brightly than a clear sky, as they held his deep marine ones captive... and then looked passed him as though he were invisible.

Clearly unaffected, the singer moved on, delivering her doleful message to all who would listen.

* * *

With her seraphic mezzo soprano, the Snowshoe queen was well aware of the spell she could cast on attentive ears, and how she could thrill their watchful eyes with sultry feats performed upon a vertical pole. It was one of the reasons why she was there, in the seedy club known as Dirty Harry's. One of the reasons why she had been 'specially chosen'. At least, those were the twisted words her captor had used when he had wrenched her so violently from the ones she loved. With the memory as fresh in her mind as an open sore, she worked her magic on the audience with a smile, swaying her hips to the long instrumental flourish of La Vie En Rose.

Her number. Her secret Shangri-la, where she could temporarily lose herself in a world that was filled with roses and pink carnations and gently soothe the empty pain of loss, a gnawing ache that never truly went away.

Of course, she had no idea what the colour pink actually looked like, for the colours red and green were unknown to most of her species. But the song, for her, was a gateway into the arms of happier times, where life was simple and she was free from the tortures of living.

Not like now. Where her entire existence was presided over by a demonic shadow that controlled the very air she breathed, where her only worth was the pleasure that others could reap from her and the terror that He could embed within the very fibres of her soul.

None of the observers below her had any knowledge into this. They were merely clientele, who were expending good money in order to be gratified, and so her face was the picture of winsome charm as she hitched her slender legs around the smooth metal and twirled herself around.

Off to her left, a blue and cinnamon Abyssinian was mirroring her movements with equal precision, while, to her right, an Egyptian Mau was doing the same thing, with her sleek, spotted figure boasting a grace unmatched by any. And last, but by no means least, a peridot eyed Korat danced proudly above them all, her bluish coat tipped with a silver lustre that made her appear to shimmer as she moved and swayed to the sensual music.

After they'd finished their performance, the queens made way for the next act and drifted into the crowd of ogling ruffians, gracefully hopping up onto tables which were laden with playing cards and coins, and continued to shimmy and sensuously move their hips, causing the gamblers to stop what they were doing and stare at them with open mouths.

However, a loud whistle suddenly caught the Snowshoe's attention and she turned her head, noticing a cloaked figure sitting at an adjacent table. He signalled for her to come over, so she plastered a smile onto her face and stepped across to him.

Not showing his face, he said something, but it was too loud, so she squatted down and swivelled her ear towards him in order to hear over the music and drunken chatter. "Sorry? What was that?"

"How much for a dance?"

"Ten pounds for a three minute tease, two hundred for an hour," she answered automatically.

He handed her a twenty pound note. "Keep the change."

"Thank you." She tucked the money into her top, then hopped down off the table and began her dance, letting her body twist and move fluidly with the sultry rhythm of the music.

Once she'd finished, he sat forwards, and she was unable to stifle a cringe as she felt his hot breath tickle the back of her neck, asking the question that she'd been both expecting and dreading. "How much for a private room?"

"Two hundred for the hour…" She hesitated. "Plus, for me, there are… other requirements." She looked down, thinking desperately. "If you like, you may take another dancer. Claudia is free right now."

He ignored the suggestion. "What about your fellow performers? The Korat, Abyssinian and the Mau?"

"The same rules apply." She indicated the stage, where a boxing ring had been set up and a large grey Nebelung stood waiting. "If you want us, you must fight. Or die."

"Seems a bit harsh," he commented.

"It's the rules. Take it or leave it."

"You sound nervous. Like it's not what you want."

"It's not up to me."

"You're trapped here, aren't you?"

Her heart jumped. Was she that obvious? She had to keep calm. Professional. "I'm very happy to be working here, thank you for asking," she said brightly. Who was this person?

"I know who you are, Jazzie. You're a doctor. I can get you out."

Her heart started to pound fiercely as she fought a sudden wave of panic. "Stop talking or they'll hear you! And my name is Hope!"

"We both know that's not true. I can get you out without them noticing. You just have to trust me."

It was tempting, but also too good to be true. What if it was a trick? "What about my friends?"

"I can come back for them another time…"

She cut him off. "No. Sorry, I'm not leaving them."

"Then I'm sorry to have wasted your time. Thank you for the dance." With that, he stood up, and Jazzie could only look on as her only possible chance of escape started walking towards the door.

"Not so fast!" Barked a voice. "Where do you think you're going?"

The stranger carried on walking, hoping to leave without further confrontation. This wasn't part of the plan. Time to pull out and call the rescue off, rather than risk his life and the lives of his hidden comrades.

But he'd shown himself to the dancer. A risky move. And now the spell had failed, putting him in full view of the entire club, including the fighter, who was getting impatient at the lack of contenders.

"Where do you think you're going?" The Nebelung repeated, leaping from the ring. "Come up here and fight me! Whatsa matter with ya? Still suckin on ya mama's titties?"

The stranger stopped dead.

Around him the club grew silent, as though it were holding its breath.

"I didn't come here for trouble," he muttered, and carried on walking as though the pugnacious twit hadn't spoken.

However, the Nebelung wasn't going to let him go that easily. Looking around, he spied his target. "Was THIS what you wanted?" He grabbed hold of Jazzie. "Guess you couldn't afford her, eh?"

Jazzie screamed and struggled, but he backpawed her across the face and threw her into the ring, where she lay dazed and groaning. "Turn around, coward!" He jeered. "Let me see your face… or I'll KILL her!" And snatching a hold of her ear, he yanked her head up, smiling cruelly at the look of terror on her face.

"Hooker, you can't do that!" Boomed a voice, and a black Bombay appeared. "Damaging club merchandise is strictly prohibited! Boss'll have you!"

"Boss ain't here though, IS he? Out doing business, ISN'T HE?"

"He'll know…!"

"And I'll slit the throat of anyone who snitches on me, Lawrence! Make Cloak guy turn around and face me or I'll break the damn rules! I came here to fight and that's what I'll do!"

Quietly cursing, the cloaked figure turned away from the door and lowered his hood. "Let her go!" he growled.

"Ha! You gonna make me, loser-?" Hooker slapped her cruelly across the cheek. "Shaddup bitch!"

"I shan't tell you again!" The stranger thundered, jerking off the cloak and thrusting it, along with a sack of loot, into the gnarled claws of a guard, revealing himself at last as a silver and black striped Maine Coon cross, whose muscular arms and rippled torso was suffused with scars, singing of many battles, both won and lost.

Smiling satisfactorily, Hooker showed his own many broken teeth, while brandishing the queen in front of him like a stuffed toy. "You want her? Come and get her!" And he flung her with such force that she tumbled out of the ring, straight into the arms of the silver tom.

Barely able to hide his disgust at her ill treatment, he had just enough time to steal a glance at her blood-smeared face and captivating blue eyes, before clumsily dumping her into a chair, in the hope that she would be safe there. He then turned a vindictive glare towards the Nebelung, who goaded him to advance.

"Oh yeah? Wha'choo gonna do about it, eh? I promise to be careful with that pretty face of yours!"

Amid the fierce jeering of the crowd, two guards handed the stranger a set of ropes, which he began to wind around his paws.

Meanwhile, the black Bombay addressed as Lawrence was announcing enthusiastically, "And now, for our newest contestant… What is your name, challenger?"

"Snorrescha," he muttered.

"So, here we have Floresca-!"

"Snorrescha-"

"...Verses Hooker the Deathclaw. You know the rules of Cat Boxing, Floresca-?"

The Silver tom sighed. "Enlighten me."

"No claws, no teeth. No sharp implements of any kind, or it's immediate expulsion. Do I make myself clear? Everything else is fair game, including the use of furniture."

The silver tom nodded, showing he understood and that he was ready.

"Back to your corners!" roared the Bombay. "Three… two… one… FIGHT!"

The bell twanged and with a crazed yell, Hooker dived forwards, but the stranger casually stepped out of reach. Fuming, the Nebelung swung a punch, and then again- but he barely left a graze on his opponent's fur. "What's a matter wiv ya?" He wheezed after his fifth attempt. "You gonna fight me or what?"

"I am fighting you," the silver tom replied calmly.

Hooker spat. "Pathetic! That queen was a better fighter than you!"

"Says the tom with the fighting ability of an earthworm!"

Hooker roared, catching the Maine Coon around the throat. Grimacing, he tried to squeeze, but was prevented from doing so by the challenger's stiff collar. In the next instance, he found himself lifted off his feet, screaming as his face was smashed into the hard surface. "Ok, guv!" He begged as the Maine coon prepared to finish him off. "I surrender, I surrender!"

Seeing him capitulate, Snorrescha dropped his punch and hauled back his head instead, just like he'd done to that poor queen. "I know what you are," he muttered into his ear. "You're nasty and vile! A murderer of innocent queens, and if it were up to me, I would send you to live with all the other worms!"

He roughly let go and left the wretch chewing the dirt.

However, as he was walking away, the bleeding Nebelung clawed his way to his feet. Using the ropes for support, he threw himself at Snorrescha.

Casually, the Maine coon turned and leapt. The forward momentum of the Nebelung was all he needed, gravity and the angle of his knee doing the rest.

There was a single, dull crack, and all signs of life left the Nebelung's face, along with the air in his lungs as he crashed to the ground like a broken mannequin. He didn't get up again.

Breathing heavily, Snorrescha heard the bell go and watched as Hooker was dragged off, and was about to beat his own hasty retreat, when the referee called him back.

"Whoa! You're not finished yet. Customers have paid good money to see this. If you want your prize, you must now fight Gizzard Cruncher. That was just a warm up, my friend."

As he said that, Snorrescha found himself facing a brown tabby Manx, whose lack of tail and compact stature did not make him appear any less threatening. In fact, he attacked with such speed and savagery that the silver tom barely had time to put up his guard, giving the Manx the opportunity to dive straight in and land a kick in his ribs.

The Maine Coon grunted with pain, but before The Manx could do anymore damage, the larger tom caught his foot and twisted it, resulting in a bone shattering 'snick' that was audible to all- as was the abject shriek, which was abruptly cut off as the Maine Coon clamped his arm around the tom's unprotected gullet.

The Manx's eyes bulged and his face contorted as he tried to loosen the choke hold, but to no avail. Frantically, he tapped on the arm, his eyes rolling back and his mouth agape.

Barely hearing the bell ringing, the Maine Coon released the so called Gizzard Cruncher and stepped back, watching him gag and choke on all fours, spraying blood and phlegm all over the dusty floor.

The Manx knew he'd lost.

Rubbing his throat, he dragged himself up and limped painfully towards the Maine Coon, and held out his paw.

Snorrescha frowned suspiciously, but phlegmatically grasped it. After all, it was customary to shake after a fight. However, when the referee wasn't looking, the Manx's subdued demeanor suddenly gave way to an ugly sneer, and with a few slurred insults, he spat on the ground at his feet.

The crowd hissed and booed, but before Snorrescha could react, the Manx stumbled out of the ring and was replaced by a highly inebriated ginger and brown-spotted Ocicat. "I'm gonna make you regret what you just did to me mucker, sunshine…!" He snarled and clumsily brandished his hatchet, about to take a swing…

"Er- I'm sorry Sir, weapons are not allowed!" the referee admonished, furiously blowing his whistle. "I'm going to have to-"

"Outta my way!" The Ocicat sent him sprawling into the ropes, then proceeded to thrash the weapon at the Maine Coon- only to find himself trapped against his victim with his arm locked out.

A kick to his tomhood had him forgetting all about his desire for vengeance and then a final blow to the back of his head rendered him comatose.

Unshaken, Snorrescha left him lying face-down on the floor while he went to haul the rankled referee to his feet and dutifully handed him the axe.

"Thank you, Sir," said the Bombay haughtily, dusting off his black fur.

"Grimmel!" He called.

"What is it now, Lawrence?" Snapped a black, wiry-haired guard.

Lawrence thrust the weapon into his grizzled paws. "Kindly remove Siegel! And DON'T let him back in until he's sober!"

"Yes Sir," the guard drawled, and with the help of another guard, unceremoniously extricated the inert Ocicat from the stage.

"Anymore challengers?" Lawrence called. "Anyone at all?"

He was met with silence and blank stares. There seemed to be a lack of volunteers all of a sudden. Shrugging, he raised The Maine Coon's right arm… "Everyone! Give a round of applause to our new-"

"WAIT!" Boomed a voice.

The crowd parted as a large Chausie strode up. "Let's see how you shape up against me!" he challenged. "I am Tesslar, Macavity's prize fighter… mongrel!" He spat the last insult venomously, his voice rough and cruel like sharks' teeth.

However, The Maine Coon did not remonstrate. Instead, he calmly took in the cat before him, instantly noting his tank-like build, his short, smokey fur and mean face. To all intents and purposes, he looked like a lion in miniature.

"Alright!" Lawrence excitedly announced. "This is more like it, kitties! Perhaps, we shall see a bit more theatre? A bit more … drama? Eh?"

He was answered by a series of enthusiastic cheers and hoots, and went on, "Should be an interesting contest: the Lion... versus... the Tiger!"

He looked at the two cats who were poised in a deadly stare-off. "Aaaand when you're ready! FIGHT!"

Snorrescha heard the Chausie roar. He saw his paw unleash. He raised his own arm, but felt the blow hammer against his head, like the dull thump of a pillow, except this pillow appeared to be made of concrete.

Blinking through an explosion of stars, he staggered to the side, almost collapsing, but was saved by the ropes.

The hulking tom was right there against his chest, pinning him against the ropes, trapping his head, wrapping his arms painfully around his face and neck.

Snorrescha grimaced as he fought with everything he had, trying to prize himself loose... only to receive a solid knee to the left side of his groin.

Blinded by pain, he was suddenly defenceless.

The brute could have finished him off right then. A swift blow to the back of his skull and it would all have been over.

But instead, he tripped him and pitched him over the ropes, sending him plummeting onto a table with a sickening crunch. Although winded, the splitting wood saved Snorrescha from further injury, yet he hardly had time to acknowledge this.

Bellowing like a raging bull, Tesslar came swan diving from the ropes, landing right on top of him. There was a further crash as the pair struggled, followed by the splintering of wood as the Lionlike cat beat the Maine Coon down with a chair, then tore a picture from the wall. Snorrescha braced himself, but felt the hammering blow as the print of Les Demoiselles d'Avignon was smashed across him, and could do nothing apart from lie groaning in the wreckage and dust. The world seemed to slow down, like an overcranked film. And then the referee began to count down, "Three… Two…!"

"I'm not done yet!"

Right before the count of: 'One,' he rolled back to his feet. With a burst of strength, he snatched up an unbroken chair and drove it into his assailant's chest, sending them both crashing through a plasterboard wall.

Coughing in the sawdusty air, he blinked blood out of his eyes and glanced around.

The place where he'd ended up was dank, dingier than the club with its strobe lights. A kitchen of some sorts. Eerily silent... and yet.

Something sinister lurked close by. He could almost taste the stench of it radiating from the shadows. "So? You want to play cat and mouse?" he muttered… And took a tentative step forward.

The next thing he felt was a disturbance on his whiskers. A whiff of air, followed by a hissing whoosh!

His head snapped in its direction and instinctively ducked, just as a plate exploded on the wall above him, showering his fur with shards of pottery. He shielded his face as another came slicing through the air, then another, and another, but all missed by millimetres. "You have worse aim than a drunk monkey in a blindfold!" He mocked aloud, still unable to see his opponent... but he didn't need to.

With a stream of blood dripping from his jaws, Tesslar no longer cared for anything apart from seeing that Maine Coon eradicated, so he drew a knife from the rack and hurled it.

The Maine Coon shielded himself with the first thing he could grab: a pan lid, sending the blade 'pinging' off somewhere, then made an ill-fated lunge towards his adversary. The Chausie kicked him backwards, slamming him into the oven. Then hefted something bulky and cuboidal off the side. "Prepare to die, Mongrel!" He hissed, and surged forwards, aiming to crush the Maine coon with the microwave.

Snorrescha pushed back, his arms straining as the metal squashed his ribcage. Reaching back, he fumbled for the first thing he could find: an iron pan support, and launched it.

A shriek told him that metal had connected with flesh, and with one final effort, he heaved himself forwards.

Caught off-guard, Tesslar staggered and the combatants crashed back through the wall, microwave and all, ending up back in the ring where they had initially started; exhausted, bruised and bleeding, though neither was prepared to back down.

Keen to bring the fight to a swift conclusion, Tesslar made a final lunge towards his opponent, only for the nimble Maine Coon to slip out of his grasp and leap onto his back. Raising his arm, he brought his elbow down, smashing it into the Chausie's skull, before leaping out of harm's way.

At first, nothing happened.

Tesslar vigorously shook his head, and was about to have another go at finishing off that wretched Maine Coon… when he suddenly lurched violently, collapsing into the ropes...

Eyes burning with hatred, he managed to haul himself up, and began to stagger towards The Maine Coon... frothing at the mouth… claws itching to seek out his throat…

Then, his bloodshot eyes rolled back in their sockets and he toppled with a dull 'thud', laying flat out cold on the linoleum.

The dust settled.

The room was stunned into silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then, someone began to cheer. This quickly morphed into an almighty roar, as amidst the heckles and hoots, the referee raised the Maine Coon's arm and hailed... "WE HAVE A WINNER! GIVE IT UP FOR THE NEW CHAMPION FLORESCHAAA!"

Far from revelling in his victory, Snorrescha looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else than standing in front of a crowd of appreciative hooligans. He was too exhausted and too busy keeping a watchful eye on the front entrance to care about whether he'd won or not. Snatching his arm free, he set about tearing off the threadbare and blood-stained ropes.

"Pick as many queens as you like, Sir," the referee was saying to him. "You've earned them. Take them upstairs, where there'll be a room waiting for you." He gave a sly wink and added, "Have fun… that's if you've still got the energy."

With his paws free at last, Snorrescha answered by jabbing a claw in the Snowshoe's direction. "That one…" he puffed. "And those three." He pointed to the Abyssinian, the Egyptian Mau and the Korat.

"Good choice."

The Bombay pointed to a spot on the floor just in front of him. "YOU! HERE!" He bellowed.

With their eyes cast down, the queens were shoved over and made to stand in that exact spot.

"They're all yours," he told Snorrescha with that same sly smile. "But do watch out for that French one."

He whispered overtly... "It gets feisty."

Snorrescha kept silent, his countenance as set as the gravel chippings his dusty fur resembled, while his piercing eyes simultaneously swept over the queens. All were wan and hollow-cheeked, the Snowshoe in a particularly sorry state. Her fur was in disarray and she was attempting to sniff blood back up her nose, while doing her level best to keep still. However, he could clearly see her achromatic paws quaking, shivering like moth wings, in spite of them being clasped firmly in front of her.

With a brisk nod to the referee, he began to frog march all four towards the side entrance.

But as he passed the bar, he accidentally knocked into someone. Another cloaked figure, sat hunched over a glass of something potent-looking, doing his level best to make himself look inconspicuous. "Wait for my signal!" Snorrescha hastily whispered, before guiding the queens out through a doorway and up a flight of creaky wooden stairs.

Jazzie was terrified. She didn't know what this tom planned to do, but he seemed dangerous and she had no idea what fate met her and her friends once they reached the top of the stairs.

All she knew was that the tom seemed very eager to get them there and was having to give each of them an extra firm shove to keep up the pace. And then it happened.

Letting out a gasp of pain, Jazzie's shin collided with the corner of the step and she immediately covered her head with her arms. "Please! I'm sorry, do not hit!"

But the stranger surprised her... not by striking her, but by bending down to help her up. "Are you alright?" He asked, his voice gruff.

She was too shocked to answer, so she just swallowed and nodded.

"Good. Then, let's carry on. Perhaps we could go a little faster, hm?"

They climbed two more short flights of stairs, and finally he opened a door to a small room and pushed them inside.

On the outset, this particular room seemed fairly innocuous. The walls were as black as night and sensuously draped with golden velvet, while from the ceiling, a crystal chandelier glittered, tinkling melodically in the draft. Upon the mantelpiece, gold tea lights flickered and a plush cream carpet invited visitors to sink weary toes into its silken fibres, adding to the hedonistic vulgarity.

However, as comfortable as it was, the queens were far from comforted. They huddled together on the bed, shivering violently, but not with cold.

Meanwhile, he wedged a chair across the door, then made his way over to them. And that was when the Snowshoe noticed the injury. A gash across his eyebrow, streaming blood down the left side of his face, although a lot appeared to have dried.

"Listen," he said, keeping his voice low. "I know what this looks like, but I need you to do exactly as I say. Do you understand?"

She had expected his voice to sound harsh... but his soft, rich baritone made him seem kind, trustworthy. However, she wasn't taken in by it. She had encountered many such toms, who at first, appeared to be well spoken, but turned out to be as slimy as any sewer rat. "I understand that you are a tom, and that we are here for a purpose," she replied with some disdain. "We are yours to do with whatever you want."

He nodded. "In that case, the first thing I want you to do-"

She cringed-

… "is help me tie up these bed sheets."

Her eyes widened, but before she could say anymore, he pointed to the others.

"You three! Jump on the bed- make out you're having 'fun'..." He mimed inverted commas, then walked purposefully to the window and tried to force it open. It whined and creaked in protest, but point blankly refused to budge. Cursing, he turned around, only to find the queens gawping at him as though he were an extraterrestrial who'd just flown in from Mars. "What are you waiting for?"

The Korat, the Abyssinian and the Mau looked at one another, shrugged, then began to do as they were told, even managing a few excited squeals.

"Alright, don't get too carried away..." he muttered as he picked up a section of silk fabric and tore it in half, then noticed that the Snowshoe hadn't so much as lifted a paw. "Are you going to sit there giving me evils or would you like to help?" he asked, not bothering to keep the condescending tone out of his voice.

"Give me one reason why I should?" She returned icily. "I am not easily fooled!"

"Then it's no wonder you've been stuck here for so long." He indicated the window. "I could just leave you here if you'd prefer-?"

"NO!" Shouted the Abyssinian, clearly distressed. "Please… Sir!" She pleaded in soft Irish tones, while still bouncing slightly, "Excuse... my friend… she's not herself... so she isn't…!"

"Jazzie, we have to trust him," the Korat reasoned, and the three of them ceased their bouncing. "What choice have we got? I, for one, am not staying here!"

Snorrescha regarded the Korat. "What is your name?" He asked.

"Hortenseya," she replied, a little crisply.

"Well, it would be preferable if you came with me, Hortenseya," he said. "Not least because I have gone to a great deal of trouble in order to get you to this point…" As if his dishevelled appearance didn't make that clear enough… "...but also because you've cost me all of my winnings."

She raised an eyebrow. "Your winnings?"

"Yes. My team and I have been playing that confounded game all afternoon, trying to drum up the funds..."

"Your team-?"

He interrupted her, "I promise you, madam, I will explain everything just as soon as we get our backsides out of here. But for now, if you want to make yourself useful, help Jazzie tie those sheets. She seems to be having some trouble."

Ignoring the Snowshoe's grudging looks, he turned to the Abyssinian. "And you are?" He asked.

"Lucitana," she answered.

"Lucitana. Put your ear to the door and shout if you hear anything." Lastly, he looked at the Egyptian Mau.

"I am Norstara," she said.

He handed her a strip of gold silk. "Tie this to the bedpost, Norstara. And can everyone else please get a move on? Macavity could show up at any moment and I do not wish to be here when that happens."

While the queens tied together the sheets, he picked up another chair and smashed the window, reducing it to crystalline smithereens. Then he grabbed the sheets and flung them out of it. "Hurry now. Mind that glass there..." he warned, then hopped over the splintered sill and disappeared.

"Wait-!" Swallowing a ball of panic, Jazzie raced to the window and looked over… only to almost collide with him as he popped back up to check on them. "Sorry! I thought you'd gone," she excused.

"I will if you don't hurry up!" he answered impatiently, and back down he went, using his claws to descend the wall with more proficiency than any rock climber.

"Wait!" She whispered loudly. "I didn't catch your name!"

"It's not important. But for now you can call me Snorrescha."

Swallowing nervously, she scrambled out after him, but decided not to attempt what he was doing. Instead, she gripped the sheet and walked carefully down the wall, shivering as a breeze swept through her short fur and dusted her face with moisture.

Then all at once, she heard a chilling shout. "Someone's coming!"

"No!" she squeaked fearfully. If they were caught, they were dead. "What do we do?"

"Jump!" Snorrescha hissed, and before she could voice her concerns about that, he dropped into the darkness.

"Is he crazy?" She thought. "I cannot jump that far!"

"Come ON!" He urged from below.

Gulping, she braced herself... and let go…

Her stomach flew away! The wind whistled through her ears as she prepared to hit the ground... only to land upon something soft.

Dazedly, she opened her eyes, and found herself staring into a pair of aqua eyes. And it didn't take her long to work out whose arms she'd landed in. "Get your filthy paws off me, you striped monster!" she spat, swiping at him until he let go.

"Gratuitous as ever," he growled, and turned his attention to the other queens who were dropping from the sky like it was raining... well... cats!

Norstara was first, followed by Hortenseya. "Where's Luci?" She asked.

"I thought she was behind you?" Norstara replied, looking puzzled.

The Korat's eyes widened. "She was."

They all looked up, just in time to see a ruddy shape plummeting towards them, and gave a collective sigh when the Abyssinian landed with barely a thud. She was about to open her mouth to say something, but Snorrescha suddenly grabbed them all and shoved them back into the wall!

"What are you- mmm?!" Jazzie started to protest, but he clapped a paw over her mouth- and it immediately became apparent why.

No sooner were they safely out of sight, when Grimmel poked his head out of the window.

"I can't believe you let them escape!" he snarled to someone they couldn't see. "Come on! They can't have gone far! When I catch em I'll…!"

Not prepared to wait around to hear what he would do, Snorrescha cupped his paws to his mouth and let out a vixen-like shriek. A strange, blood curdling sound, it echoed through the dark streets, and for a moment the queens feared he had gone mad.

Then, they heard a shrill croak.

A dark shape appeared overhead, seeming to answer him with its shrill alarm call.

Turning to them, he spoke urgently. "According to my friend, Macavity is heading this way. So if you want to live, follow me. And for Heaviside's sake, keep up!"

They all crouched down and morphed from humanoid, into forms that more resembled domestic cats, their oversized clothes slipping from their feline bodies. Then three similar shapes came bounding towards them.

"LOOK OUT!" One called, and the queens found themselves surrounded by three other toms, just as the double doors of the club burst open.

Like a hole in a spiders nest, five mesomorphic guards surged out of it. "There they are!" Roared the leader. "Get em! Don't let them get away!"

As they fled, the group of cats dodged between the legs of humans, causing a few of them to squeal. But before the nightclubbers and drunken youths could make sense of the jets of fur darting past them, they were long gone.

With their padded paws sailing over the terra therma, the fugitives streaked passed the War Memorial like a bunch of fleeing rabbits before taking a series of sharp turns; ending up in a place named Euston Street.

They carried on down this largely residential district, keeping to the shadows of regimented Georgian terraces as much as possible, only emerging to cross thoroughfares and cut through private gardens, setting dogs barking and people complaining about "blinking cats!"

Finally, they passed The Royal College Of Physicians and made it to Regent's Park. The plan had been to stop at the playground and get their breath back under the cover of the trees, for everyone was panting heavily, and three of the queens were close to collapse.

But sadly, their hopes of restbite were all but trodden into the sodden ground when rabid yowls suddenly reached their ears, growing louder with every terror filled moment, and they had no choice other than to drive their tired legs onwards.

"Keep going!" Snorrescha called. "It's not far now!"

Jazzie could barely breathe. "HOW much... further?"

"Keep going!" He repeated more firmly, fully prepared to bite those lagging tails if need be. Anything to keep them just ahead of their pursuers as they finally crossed over the Park's Outer Circle and pelted it across a busy main road, narrowly avoiding the traffic.

It was hoped that that would put an end to the chase, or at least bide them time, but sadly not.

There was a lull. In the absence of cars, they saw the dark shapes crossing over the road, heading straight towards them. And now, there was nowhere left to run.

Changing back into their human-like forms, the group gathered nervously at the edge of this new obstacle. A wide gash in the ground. A straight line of cement, steel and gravel, barren and devoid of cover, apart from a few meagre clumps of moss clinging between cracks in the paving. "I thought you said you'd planned the route?" One tom, a young black and white Piebald, complained.

"I had to change the plan at short notice," Snorrescha grimly replied, indicating over his shoulder. "Besides… according to Skimble this line is usually quiet and is not electrified. We should be fine."

Hearing a series of snarling puffs behind them, the toms turned, instinctively closing ranks to form a solid wall of damp fur and muscle in front the queens.

Meanwhile, their pursuers had morphed into thickset forms that were reminiscent of brawny human bouncers, only with dark, scraggly fur instead of black suits, and were growling threateningly, knowing they had their quarry cornered. "What shall we do with them, Mesoleutha?" Snuffered one.

The largest of them regarded the victims with a single eye; the other being nothing more than a fleshy socket, as though they were a collection of carcasses hanging from a butcher's rack. He casually flexed his claws, displaying where his right fore-digit ought to have been, had been replaced by a glinting blade, which was cruelly hooked, much like a sickle. "Seize the queens," he replied, in a voice as crusted as the lichen on a grave marker. "Boss wants them alive. Kill the rest."

Meanwhile, Snorrescha hurriedly whispered to the Piebald out of the side of his mouth. "Alonzo... take Plato and Admetus and lead the queens on. I'll hold off Captain Hook and his crew..."

"But-but-!" Alonzo started to balk.

"No buts-! Just get them to safety!"

Without waiting for a reply, he turned his attention to the advancing reprobates and purposefully stepped in front of them. "If you want them, you'll have to go through me," he challenged, the pearly hints of his claws protruding from his fingertips.

Amidst the wavering pitter-patter of rain, there was not a sound or single movement, save for the drops that crept down tousled backs and shivered from a vexillology of ominously flicking tails, as Mesoleutha swept his eye over this plucky desperado who dared to take on the might of Macavity's Official Guard. It narrowed with recognition, and he started to cackle, pulling his ogre-like features into a grotesque sneer. "You've a generous bounty on your head, Silver," he rasped. "With Boss desiring it to decorate his wall, killing you would make me well off indeed."

"You're very welcome to try," Snorrescha growled.

"Indeed, I shall."

On his signal, Mesoleutha's myrmidons surged forth, aiming to flay their target where he stood. But Snorrescha met them halfway. Clearing the ground faster than the eye can blink, he slammed his knee into the first, before smashing an elbow into the jaw of a second and kicking a third in the chest. Then he stood back, ready to face the leader.

Snarling at how easily his fighters had been put on their arses, Mesoleutha readily charged, slicing his deadly rigged paw towards the defender, who, with an oddly meditative sangfroid, jarred the offending arm with a lightning parry, then grabbed his assailant's wrist and sent him spinning into a gritty puddle. With claws fully extended, he was about to deliver a killing blow, when his collar was grabbed from behind.

Choking, he was yanked backwards, while Mesoleutha lurched to his feet like an animated wet rag and swung his weapon again, sending it zipping metallically through the air as though it were some kind of angry wasp, missing Snorrescha's whiskers by a nail's breadth as he frantically grabbed onto his collar to try to loosen the garotte. In desperation, he forcefully kicked his legs out, pitching his strangler over his shoulder and, as luck would have it, into the path of the blade.

Cursing, Mesoleutha tore the hook from the dead cat's chest and shoved the body to the side, before plowing on like a rampaging bear, slashing this way and that, while Snorrescha ducked and dived, until finally, the object was poised, barely an inch from his own chest. Both cats grimaced as Mesoleutha pushed it forwards, while Snorrescha held it back...

Meanwhile, the tom who'd been addressed as Alonzo urged his party onwards, leading the way across the ballast. The sounds of battle were appalling to hear and there was nothing he could do to help his comrade. And as though to answer his fears, a terrible shriek suddenly rent the cold, night air, sounding like a tortured demon screaming from the pits of Hell! "Keep going!" Shouted Plato, a ginger and white Turkish Van, as the Piebald turned to look back, his spiked tail swaying to and fro.

"But- we can't just leave him-!"

"Those were the orders-!"

"Bugger the orders! He's my father! What if he's hurt-?!

"It's not safe to linger here!" Warned the third cat, as all of a sudden, there came an even more dreadful sound.

They all heard it. A high-pitched hiss, that at first had a semblance to wind rustling through leaves- except that there was no wind, and certainly no trees for it to rustle through. It was coming from the rails, gradually building into a singing ring that sounded as though the metal itself had come to life and was screaming in terror at what was thundering towards them.

"Train!" Yelled the Turkish Van, and the cats all fled towards the other side… except Jazzie.

Whether she'd injured it while falling, she didn't know, but her foot had decided that that moment would be a perfect time to seize up. She tried to hobble to safety, but even the smallest movement was agony... and then, the sound of a thousand screaming banshees blasted her eardrums. "I don't want to die!" She cried, but there was nothing she could do. She threw back her head and screamed into the dark. She howled and wailed like some tormented creature… but no one could hear her over the roar of machinery!

Realising her fate was sealed, she stopped screaming and screwed her eyes shut, just as something slammed into her!

For a moment she was lifted off her feet, flying in slow motion... then the gravel came up to meet her and she smashed into it.

The single carriage Bubble Car blasted its horn and sped on by… passing only inches from her and the individual who'd shoved her out of its path. Whoever it was was on top of her. She could feel his weight, his hot breath and his thundering heartbeat, shielding her from the deafening roar, until, as quickly as it had arrived, the train was nothing more than a distant murmuration, sounding like a flock of wittering birds; with the sound gradually dying to nothing more than the soft 'shush' of the wind. "Are you alright?" he whispered in her ear.

Her restricted choking told him she was far from it. "Take long, slow breaths," he instructed, grasping her shoulders and helping her to sit up. "Use your stomach. It'll go away in a moment."

She nodded and tried, but it felt like breathing into a pair of concrete balloons and the world began to close in. "Can't… breathe…"

His voice murmured softly again. "Yes, you can. Try."

Feeling strangely calmed, she strove to take whatever laboured gulps she could, until the crumpled sensation in her lungs began to abate.

But as she began to feel better, she became aware of a strange odor. A powerful, metallic smell.

Looking around, her eyes landed upon him and she instantly recoiled. "Get away from me!"

Her sudden speed and savagery was reminiscent of an angry pit viper as she struck out, her claws missing his face by millimetres, while he simultaneously jerked his head out of harm's way and caught her wrist in a vice-like grip!

"Lâchez-moi, lâchez-moi!" she cried, trying to twist out of his grasp.

This failing, she bared her teeth and prepared to bite him instead. But before she could, she felt her arm being twisted, forcing her into a helpless position and couldn't do a thing about it. "You're hurting me," she whimpered.

"You were about to hurt ME!" He hissed in her ear.

"I'll do more than hurt you, you bastard!" She tried to lash out again… but only succeeded in crying as her arm was bent almost to the point of breaking!

"Are you seriously going to attack the tom who risked his life to save yours?"

Meekishly, she shook her head.

"Well then, are you hurt?" His voice softened as he noticed her gingerly trying to put weight on her left foot, but it was clearly painful, despite her attempts to hide it.

"I'm fine..." she insisted hoarsely, trying to pull away… "Please… let me go- AH!" She winced as jagged fire shot through her foot and felt his hold on her tighten.

"You're not fine. I'm sorry to have to do this…"

Her eyes widened. "Do what-?"

But before she could say or do anything else, he struck her on the side of the neck with the blade of his paw, and with a small gasp, she collapsed like a stringless puppet into his arms.


	3. Munkustrap

In a quiet street, somewhere in Lisson Grove, Snorrescha carefully placed the unconscious Snowshoe onto the ground, making sure her head was comfortably pillowed in Hortenseya's lap, and instructed her friend to keep her warm. "She's fine," he assured the Korat. "However, I think her foot needs looking at."

Leaving the queens to attend to her, he diverted his attention towards the three toms, his countenance turning grim. "So?" He asked. "Would anyone care to tell me why we had The MOGs chasing after us?"

"I tried to stop him, Sir," confessed a brown tabby and white of no obvious breed.

"Stop who doing _what,_ Admetus?"

The tom jerked his head in the direction of the Piebald Angora, whose colouring made him look as though he'd had an accident with a tin of black paint, with patches splattered all over his white fur, including a patch across one eye and a dribble on the opposite side of his muzzle. "Your son, it would seem, is COMPLETELY incapable of following the simplest instruction of 'stay put until you're told to move.'"

Snorrescha turned to his son. "Alonzo?"

"Sorry," Alonzo mumbled, though he didn't look in the least bit... a detail that irked his father greatly as he awaited further justification- and got nothing of the sort.

"Sorry for what?" He probed. "Sorry for almost getting us caught? Sorry for making us run for two miles straight? What? Or are you just saying it for effect?"

Alonzo shrugged. "It was the guard! He was the one that started it!" Despite his outwardly brazen attitude, he failed to hold the gaze of his father, whose eyes he could feel burning into him.

"What have I told you about picking fights? You almost jeopardised the whole mission-!"

"I _said_ I'm sorry!" Alonzo rudely retorted. "Or didn't you hear?"

"I'll have less of your backchat, if you don't mind!" Snorrescha growled.

"Oh yeah? And who the Hell are you to talk to ME about not fighting?"

"That wasn't part of the plan, I'll admit… but I had no choice and you know it!"

"Not part of the plan?" Alonzo repeated, completely ignoring the mark that he had readily overstepped. "How can you stand there and accuse me-?"

"ENOUGH!"

Alonzo cowed, but the tip of his tail continued to flick defiantly, while his father pointed a warning finger to go along with his 'don't push me' look. "Go get some rest. I will deal with you later!" Following that, he addressed the other two. "Plato, Admetus… good job tonight. You may leave us- oh, but could you inform Jelly and Jenny that we're back?"

The Turkish Van and the tabby both nodded and scampered off, while Alonzo sloped sullenly in a different direction, disappearing into the shadows without another word.

"Does he always talk to you like that?" Inquired Hortenseya, after they'd gone.

Snorrescha ignored the question. Instead, he nodded towards the Snowshoe. "How is she?"

"Her foot is badly strained, but not broken," she replied. "May I ask what you intend to do with us?"

"I do not intend to do anything with you."

She frowned at that. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are free to make your own decision about what to do with you." He gestured to the surroundings. "You have homes, I take it?"

The queens knew he meant human homes. "We do, but Jazzie is injured," the shimmering cat responded. "We will not leave her."

He nodded understandingly. "In that case, I can offer you temporary shelter, as well as basic medical care, if you wish to take it?"

"And I suppose you'll be expecting returns on your... _hospitality?"_

He looked directly at her, but if he was taken aback by her cold accusation, he didn't show it.

"You owe us an explanation. If it is not to make use of us, why did you rescue us?"

At that, he lowered his eyes and patiently elucidated, "Well... the main reason I rescued you is because I feel fairly strongly that what Macavity is doing is wrong. I may not be able to stop him completely, but I can at least save a few from their fate. So I do."

To add weight to his rationalisation, he held out his left paw and turned it over, so that the pad could be seen.

The Korat's eyes widened a little at what she saw. A white scar, apparently scorched into his palm. And tilting her head, she could make out the shape of the numbers: 502.

"You were a slave?"

"Some years ago now."

"I'm sorry that happened to you. But it still doesn't answer why you rescued us."

Snorrescha suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well… let me start by introducing myself. For my name is not actually Snorrescha."

Hortenseya growled. "Who are you, then?"

Drawing himself up, the tom replied, "My name is Munkustrap: Protector of the Jellicles and Guardian of this territory. The truth is, our tribe is in desperate need of a doctor. The sisters who serve our community are- and they'll hate me for saying this- aging and dreadfully overworked."

"What's that got to do with us?" Hortenseya snapped.

"I have on good authority that your talents are some of the best. In fact, I intended to contact you sooner, had Macavity not gotten to you first, to ask if there's a chance you'd agree to work for us. You'd get a decent wage, accommodation, plus anything else you might need."

He waited patiently while the queen's quietly conferred among themselves. "What do you think?" Hortenseya muttered.

Norstara shrugged. "Seems nice enough. I'm not getting any bad vibes or anything."

"I'd say shelter sounds good," whispered Lucitana. "And if we could get us something to eat that would be a bonus."

Finally, Hortenseya looked up. "My friends are tired. May we discuss this later?"

The Maine Coon nodded. "Of course. This is a lot for you to take in." He motioned towards a padlocked gate, in which there was a gap just big enough for them all to squeeze through, then saw Hortenseya struggling to get up, attempting to lift the dead weight of her friend. "I can take her," he suggested. "You go on through. It's quite safe."

Taking the Snowshoe from Hortenseya's straining arms, he lifted her as though she were nothing more than a feather and followed the others through the open gate.


	4. Quantum's Loft

_Mon ange argenté,_

_Aux yeux de mer verte,_

_Le plus beau que j'ai jamais vu,_

_Il est mystérieux,_

_Je ne connais pas son nom_

_Mais il a laissé sa marque sur mon cœur comme une flamme ardente,_

_Je ne peux pas m'empêcher de penser à lui,_

_Mon chevalier sauvage en acier blindé,_

_Qui ne me voit pas dans la même lumière que je ressens,_

_Je me trouve en train de souhaiter qu'il regarde mon chemin,_

_Et vois l'amour que j'ai dans mon coeur,_

_Mais Seigneur, j'ai peur qu'il me déchire,_

_Car il aime un autre plus beau que moi,_

_Et s'il me quittait,_

_Alors je mourrais sûrement,_

_Je l'aime tellement, mais je ne veux pas qu'il sache,_

_Laissez-le être heureux, je me dis, et laissez notre amitié grandir,_

_Il m'a sauvé la vie de tant de manières,_

_Avant de le rencontrer, j'étais perdu et seul,_

_Mon cœur n'avait pas encore trouvé sa pierre angulaire,_

_Et ainsi à toi, mon ange de noir de jais,_

_Mon trésor d'or blanc,_

_Je vous donne mon coeur à tenir._

* * *

They followed Munkustrap through a maze of junk piles, which were stacked haphazardly with items that the humans had discarded over many years, including car parts, bakelite radios, telephones, spin dryers and washing machines.

"You live here?" Hortenseya said in astonishment. "In a scrap yard?"

"I divide my time between my human home and this place." He nodded. "We're almost at the place where you'll be staying."

In front of them lay a heap of scrap wood and broken furniture. Looking up at it, they could just make out the outline of a cabin, which appeared to have been constructed out of similar materials, with a corrugated iron roof and a tin bucket for a chimney. "T'is like a tree house… only without the tree," commented Lucitana.

"It's funny you should say that," he accorded. "It's actually known as Quantum's Loft, after the chap who built it." He added in a whisper, "By the way, I think your friend is asleep." Unable to let her go, he pointed using his tail. "Lend me a paw with that rope, would you?"

Hortenseya uncurled the rope from its cleet and gave it a tug.

"That's it. Now, let go slowly."

She did as she was instructed.

There was a creaking noise and the squeak of pulleys, and slowly, a wooden lift descended, stopping just shy of the ground. "Hop on."

They all stepped onto the rickety contraption and the queens held onto it's wooden railings. Hortenseya pulled on the rope, and up they went, sailing up the wall of junk, right to Munkustrap's front door. And what greeted them was an even more curious sight.

"How charming is _this?"_ Breathed Lucitana, gazing at the random objects embedded in the plastered walls, including bits of Willow-pattern pottery, an old teapot, a Victorian wine bottle, an alarm clock, a few glass marbles and even a doll's head.

Munkustrap scoffed. "If I had a pound for the amount of times people have said that, I really _would_ be escorting you to the Ritz."

"Ah! But the Ritz doesn't have treasure in its walls," the Abyssinian argued, as she traced her paw over the patterns on the teapot... and found something that caught her eye. A trinket of gold, set with a stone of the deepest blue, staring out at her from its socket in the wall. "What is _this?"_

"An Eye of Bastet. They are set into the walls of a couple of the dens, and cursed to ward off evil."

"Do they work?" Hortenseya was looking skeptical.

He shrugged. "One can assume that they do. To my knowledge, no evil has ever found this place."

When they were all safely inside, the first thing the queens noticed was that the den was spotlessly clean and had a rather gloomy ambience, due to the fact that it only had one small window. However, for the night loving felines, this was just fine. The darkness made them feel safe and secure. "Make yourselves at home," Munkustrap told them. "Like I said, it's pretty basic. You should find everything you need."

While the others instinctively meandered towards a pile of cushions and blankets in the corner, the tom carried Jazzie straight there and set her down, trying not to wake her. Then he turned his attention to an old, cast iron Majestic that was looming somberly in a dark recess.

Meanwhile, Lucitana looked around and laughed. "You call _this_ basic? Compared to what we're used to, this is Buckingham Palace, so it is."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," he replied dismissively, as he was placing logs into the firebox. "That place creaks like a galley and is draughtier than a burned out cathedral."

The cinnamon queen gaped at him in astonishment. "You-you've been IN Buckingham Palace?"

"It was nothing special. Full of corgis mainly." Having gotten the fire going, he clicked the door shut. "Anyone for tea?"

"Actually… have you got any food?" It was Norstara who had spoken in a small voice, and at being reminded about the yawning emptiness in their stomachs, they all stared at him, their eyes wide like hungry kittens.

"I was just getting to that," he assured them. "One of my associates will be along shortly, so don't be alarmed when they barge in... they never bother to knock."

After filling a beautifully fashioned, but equally as antique looking, cast iron kettle, he placed it onto the smallest hob, then did the same with a large pan. "What's that for?" Queried the silver Mau, who had been quietly watching him.

"Washing," he explained, adding apologetically, "I'm quite aware that I look like Jack the Ripper."

She couldn't exactly argue with that. If she had only just met him, she would have assumed he was a raving axe murderer! "When you're done, may we wash after you?" She politely requested.

He nodded. "Of course. Please. Go before me."

Her eyes widened. "Are you sure? I don't mind-"

He held up a paw. "As someone I know once said- and still does on occasion: the dirtiest shall wash last." And from his tone, that clearly meant that was that.

Sometime later, the queens were sitting quietly around the warm stove, sipping tea and waiting for their fur to dry. Munkustrap had just finished liberally scrubbing his face and charcoal shaded paws of all traces of blood, grime and other things not worth mentioning, and was pouring the dirty water down the sink, when the door suddenly swung open.

They instantly tensed and fluffed up their newly cleaned fur, as in backed a Calico and white Angora, who, upon turning herself around, was found to be bearing a fair load, and it wasn't just the item wrapped in a large gingham cloth that she was hefting. "Only me," she announced cheerfully. "I come bearing stew, made by the loving paws of Jennyanydots."

Munkustrap met her gladsome mein with a deadpan voice that was like bubbles hitting a hotplate. "Oh joy. How will we ever contain ourselves."

"And a jolly good evening to _you _too_,_ Munkustrap," she responded breezily, unwrapping the towel and setting the large cooking pot on the stove, while, at the mention of food, the queens' mouths started to water.

"It's a bit dark in here, Munk!" she complained.

"I like it dark."

Ignoring his mumbled reply, she took off her satchel and set it down on the table, then started to rummage around inside it until she found what she was looking for: a candle. Sticking it into a brass holder, she borrowed Munkustrap's matches and lit it, creating an instant, soft glow that cast eerie shadows on the walls and bookcases.

"Now..." she said, hooking the neatly folded tea towel over her arm. "Let's take a look at you all- dear lordy, Munkustrap! What on earth have you done to your face?" From the tone of her voice, it was clear she wasn't best pleased. "You seriously mean to tell me you were not aware that you had a ruddy great gash on your forehead, Munkustrap Moonsilver?" she demanded, having marched over to take a closer look.

"Well, obviously I was aware-"

"Absolute nonsense-!"

"...but in case you hadn't noticed, I was busy-"

"Of course you were, dear, but you realise I'm going to have to stitch this?"

He made a face, but it was futile to argue with her. "At least, let us eat first!" he reasoned, whipping the tea towel off of her and using it to dry himself with. "We just pegged it across half of London... these ladies are starving. When we've finished, you can check on them, THEN you can do what you want to me. Ok?" He finished drying his face and lobbed it back at her.

"I'd love to, dear," she sighed, shaking out the creases, "but I don't think your guests would quite approve."

"Huh! Like they needed _that_ image," he muttered as he set out bowls, into which she ladelled the stew. "So, what is it today? Rat bourguignon? Or, my personal favourite: ragout de looks-like-dog-sh-?"

"Just sit yourself down, Munkustrap!" She scolded, "I'm quite capable-!"

"In your condition, you ought to be resting," he countered, and began to hand out the stew. "Enjoy ladies," he said to the queens. "Do watch out for the odd chewy bit; it may well be a bat's testic-"

"Don't talk nonsense, Munkustrap!" Finely losing the last of her cool, Jellylorum threw her paws in the air. "Dear Lordy, these kittens will be born in the next hour if you don't sit down and eat, for goodness sake!"

He ambled back with an amused expression on his face. Now THAT was the Jelly he liked to see! With her eyes popping and smoke practically cascading from her apoplectically quivering ears, she had all the fire of a Norwegian lemming, and could do about as much damage as one. "Nice to see you looking so relaxed and at ease, my dear," he crooned, as he accepted the bowl that she thrust at him.

"I'll give you 'at ease' in a minute. It'll be the easy end of my paw!"

He uttered a deep guffaw at the prospect of that. She was so easy to wind up!

"Golly, if you were still a kit, I'd put you over my knee!" She muttered.

"Jelly," he impishly reminded her, while gesturing his bowl at the others. "Guests?"

Her response to that was a firm 'tut', and through her Medusa's gaze, she watched him as he grudgingly sat down at the table and took a tentative mouthful. "Well? What's it like?"

He gave a dissatisfied grimace. "The meat is sufficiently chewy I could probably fashion a decent set of footwear out of it, and the flavour is likened to that of a well worn athlete's trainer. But apart from that, it would probably give Frisky's Liver and Tripe flavoured cat food a run for its money."

Her mouth turned upwards, softening her stern look somewhat. "That was almost a complement."

He shook his head as he prepared to have another go at it. "Indeed. Jenny's really outdone herself. In fact, how she managed to make it taste both burnt AND undercooked, I'll never know."

"I'll tell her you said that," she said sourly, while he took a second sampling, just to be sure, and made another face.

"Please do. Or I will."

Rolling her eyes and turning away from him, she saw that the queen's had not only licked their bowls clean, but were helping themselves to seconds; far too hungry to notice the pair yapping like a couple of terriers. "You see?" She said satisfactorily. "Not a single complaint."

"Yesh, well… I'm not exactly shtarving." Munkustrap had finished chewing and was trying to extract something from his teeth. "Nice shcarf, by the way. Another gih't from Joneshy, waj'it?"

She purposely adjusted the cream coloured silk around her throat and huffed. "Never you mind, Munkus."

"Well... he certainly knowsh how to flash de cash. Doesh he flash any'hing elshe, I wonder?"

"Don't be obscene! He's a perfectly nice gentlemen in need of a bit of company, that's all. You're just jealous because he took ME for lunch at Fenwick's and not _you!"_

He took the claw out of his mouth and stared at her. "Jealous? Why would I be jealous? He has rather less sex appeal than a walrus with a flatulence problem, and his tackle, I'm reliably informed, isn't much to talk about, even if there was anything there to discuss. I'm just intrigued by what you see in him." He went back to excavating, and at last was able to fish out that irritating thread of sinew.

Meanwhile, she folded her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. "I am interested in his pleasant company and impeccable manners. Nothing more."

"I'm pretty certain that's not how he sees it," the tom muttered under his breath, examining the scrap he'd hooked out, before delicately picking it off with his pointed canines.

She looked at him with disgust. "You're a fine one to talk, Munkustrap! Now, stop picking your teeth and finish your food!"

When finally the queens had eaten their fill, the senior Angora checked them over, periodically shaking her head and uttering a whole series of tuts. "It's no wonder you're so thin," she was saying to Norstara. "You're as worm-ridden as a compost heap."

She glanced over her shoulder at the Maine Coon, who was busy washing the dishes. "Best pop in and see Jenny, first thing. Their fur is like a flea city and Heaviside knows when they last had a bath or a proper descent meal!"

At last, she straightened up. "I'm all done, girls. Best get yourselves off to bed, so I can sort _this_ one out." She shot a deprecatory look towards the tom, who was busy scrubbing a particularly stubborn spot off the bottom of the cooking pot and appeared not to have noticed.

And then someone was calling her. The ruddy coloured queen. "But, what about Jazzie?"

"Jazzie?" She looked confused for a moment. "You mean the doctor?"

Munkustrap spoke up as he was placing the pot on the draining board. "If I could have a quiet word about that?"

"Why? What's happened?" Conscious of a sombre inflection in his voice, she stepped in close so that they could talk quietly.

"She had a rough ride on the way here," he began.

"What kind of a rough ride?" She placed a mottled paw on his arm, and her penetrating stare demanded that he tell her everything.

So he gave her a brief rundown of the ordeal in the club, the beating that Jazzie had received and how he'd had to intervene. He told her about the chase, and finally, the incident on the train line, and as he was recounting, a paw slowly went to her mouth. "Good gracious, poor thing!"

"I think she's also injured her foot..."

She detected a slight hesitancy in his voice, and immediately grew suspicious. "And?"

He scratched the back of his head, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

"What?" She probed. "Did she pass out?"

"No. I… I had to knock her out."

As predicted, her olive coloured eyes immediately flashed and her nostrils flared. "You… did… WHAT?"

He held up his paws. "It was for her own safety-"

"_Really?"_ She folded her arms and fixed him with a look of lethal scepticism, as though he had committed some terrible crime against felinity; which, according to Jellicle Law, he _sort_ of had... but when out in the field, there was really no such thing as law, so the lines had been blurred somewhat.

"Yes, because beating up defenseless queens is something I do for the thrill of it," he hissed, making sure to keep his voice low so as not to alert the guests.

"I understand that. And you don't need to get so facetious. I'm merely concerned for her well-being, that's all." A motherliness crept into her voice that immediately put him on the back foot.

"Jelly, I jumped in front of a train to save her. She was frightened, and I didn't want her to injure herself anymore. I did what I had to do."

"Well, in that case, I'd better take a look at her," she said, and quickly waddled across the room with a determined look on her face.

Sighing heavily, he dragged a chair out from the table and plonked himself into it, watching as she carefully knelt down and examined the young queen's head and then felt her foot. Even in the dim light, he could see how swollen the bruises were; so unforgiving on such delicate features. And at being prodded and poked, she suddenly groaned and opened her eyes. _"Que se passe-t-il?"_

"He didn't tell me you were French," Jelly said, smiling. "Bonjour, Madame. Je m'appelle Jellylorum. No need to be alarmed. I'm just checking your foot. Can you wiggle your toes for me...? That's it. And can you point to where the pain is?"

"It sort of hurts all over," Jazzie said, grimacing.

"Is it hurting now?"

"Yes."

"Does it hurt when you move it?"

"When I keep it still… and when I put weight on it."

"Hmmm…" The pregnant queen looked thoughtful "...can't detect any swelling… so we can hopefully rule out a break or a sprain..."

Jazzie nodded her head. "It feels like a classic strain. All that's needed is a little pressure."

Jellylorum smiled and glanced at Munkustrap. "She seems to know her stuff." Then she turned back to the queen. "I'll pop a bandage on it and give you some painkillers. You'll feel right as rain."

"I can do it myself, if you like?" Jazzie reached for the wad of dressing, but Jelly jerked it away, looking stern.

"Now don't you be silly with me, girl. You might be a doctor, but at this moment you're _my_ patient. You will lie there, take your pill and go back to sleep. You must be exhausted."

Jazzie dutifully did as she was told, not wanting to argue with this tigress of a queen.

"So?" the Calico asked in a more genial manner. "What part of France are you from?"

"Paris."

Jelly's smile instantly broadened. "Oh! How romantic!"

Jazzie smiled back, but noticed Munkustrap was quietly massaging the bridge of his nose. "When are your kittens due?" She asked.

"In about a month…" Jelly busily replied, "Just two this time... got four grown up ones already, and I'm a grandma too. Deary me! I shouldn't really be having anymore at my age, but hey ho…!" She whittled off the names of her many grandchildren, telling Jazzie how her poor daughter Demeter had had three of them taken away by the humans, which had been very upsetting for them all. Then, she lowered her voice to a tentative whisper. "I have to ask, dear. Have you or the others ever…?"

Jazzie quickly looked away. "No."

Jelly gazed at her sadly, guessing that wasn't the truth. "I know, love," she sighed. "We have to ask these things."

When she was done, she left the queen to go back to sleep (as her friends were already) and washed her paws, before walking over to the tom. "She's very pretty, Munk," she whispered.

"That's neither here nor there..." came the gruff reply.

"I know, Mr Grump! I'm just saying-!"

"I hope that's ALL you're doing!" He shot her a sideways look and, wisely, she kept the rest of her thoughts to herself.

Balancing a pair of Oxford spectacles on her nose, she started to dab the wound using a pair of forceps. "It's just…" she began muttering. "When you hear the rumours, you don't expect..."

"Expect what?"

"Nevermind." She put down the gauze and grasped a curved needle and suture in the jaws of the instrument. "Hold still, dear..."

"Drrr!" He gritted his teeth as she attempted to put in the first stitch... "Damn it, woman! I swear you cause me more pain than all of Macavity's torturing implements put together-!"

"Wait!"

At the unexpected outcry, they both looked up in surprise to see Jazzie hurriedly getting out of bed. "I can do that," she said.

"I really don't think-!" Jellylorum was about to object, but Munkustrap growled at her.

"Let the girl have a go! Anything is better than having you stab me in the head."

The calico opened her mouth and shut it again, much like a fish trying to breathe out of water, but no sound came out.

Ignoring her, Munkustrap sipped on his third cup of tea and looked at the young queen quizzically. "Do you think you can sort this without making me look like one of Frankenstein's creations?"

Jazzie nodded. "Oui, Monsieur."

"Then get washed and come over here. I left the pan out... there's hot water in the kettle. And less of the 'Oui, Monsieur.' We speak English here."

"Yes, sir."

He was about to say something else, but Jellylorum quickly steered her over to the sink. "Come along dear, don't mind old Grumpy sat over there. Here, let me help you..." She set to work briskly scrubbing the young queen's face, arms and paws, continuing to mutter as she did so... "Must watch that face of yours, you've got a lovely bruise there I see. It'll come up like a bright shiner tomorrow, I'll grant... deary me, what a mess you're in, you poor thing… bruises everywhere- oh, I'm dreadfully sorry, did I hurt you?"

Jazzie shook her head as her paws were subjected to a rigorous drying, but the older queen still thought she looked a little downcast. "What's the matter, dear? Would you like some tea?"

"I feel faint," Jazzie mumbled.

Jelly grasped her paws. "Goodness gracious, you must be hungry. And all the food is gone… oh my-!"

"She can have mine," Munkustrap suggested, nodding towards his virtually untouched bowl. "It's a bit cold though."

Jellylorum let out a breath. "That's very kind of you, Munk."

"Humph! She's welcome to it."

"It's not just that..." said Jazzie timidly.

Jelly looked concerned once more. "What is it, dear?"

"My face... it hurts."

The bruise below her left eye had swollen so much, it had forced her eye partly closed... _'making me look like an ogre,'_ she thought, but Jelly kindly reassured her, "Of course it does, poppet. It'll soon heal. Here..." She took off her silk scarf and wrapped it around her head. "This should make you feel more comfortable."

Tears of gratitude instantly sprang into Jazzie's eyes. She couldn't believe the kindness of this lady who hardly knew her! "Thank you…!"

But the Calico briskly shrugged off her grateful utterances. "Oh, it was making me feel hot anyway-!"

"Like you needed it," Munkustrap piped up.

"Quiet, you!" Jelly smirked as she indicated her bulge. "That kind of talk was how you got me into THIS mess!"

"Hardly a mess." He grinned while she made a theatrical show of rolling her eyes and guided the young queen to sit at the oak table, where the bowl was sitting, its contents looking congealed and wholey unappetising.

Cautiously, Jazzie scooped up a spoonful and gave it a sniff... and had to fight not to gag.

"Right. Well, I'll leave you two in peace," Jellylorum was saying. "I'll leave my medical kit here. It should have everything you need. I'll leave the specs on the table."

The tom gave his paw a perfunctory wave. "We'll be fine. Tell Jenny what I said about her cooking, and that we'll be around sometime tomorrow, though probably not first thing."

Jellylorum answered bluntly, "I shall tell her that you loved the stew, because that's what she'll want to hear!"

He let out a groan, "And then she'll boil up some more, Heaviside help us…!"

"...Anyway, I have to go and check on Gus now," she continued, as she gathered up her cooking pot and tea towel... "He really does hate it when I'm late, you know..."

"He'll hate it even more if you drop dead before he does!" He shook his head as she went bustling out of the door. Seriously, when did that queen ever stop?

Meanwhile, Jazzie had just finished chewing on the same bit of meat she'd been chewing for almost the entire duration of their conversation, and barely managed to get it down. It tasted awful, but her starving body forced her to take another mouthful. And as she ate, she wondered about the exchange. "Are you two…?" she started to ask, but got stuck on the last word.

"Are we two, what?"

"Um… you know… together?"

"Who? Me and Miss 'Lorum?" His lips twitched in what was almost a reticent smile. "Not at this moment."

She looked at him blankly, but he reluctantly explained away, "It's complicated."

"Of course." She nodded contritely. "I didn't mean to pry-"

"Don't be. I would rivet you with the ins and outs, only it's rather a long-winded story and I'm more than a little tired. Some other time, maybe."

With that, she kept quiet and went back to focusing on her sorely less than frabjous meal.

He glanced over with a wry look on his face. "You enjoying that?"

She choked down another mouthful. "Not really."

"I was about to say, I think I have some condiments in the larder."

"Really? Where? In here?" She hobbled over to a small cabinet and opened it, but found nothing inside apart from a few bottles of pills.

"Oh. Err…!" He got up and hurriedly shut the door. "Sit down. I'll get them." And opened up a second, larger door, revealing a walk-in cupboard.

There followed a series of rattling noises, coupled with the reverberant clink of something being dropped, until at last, he came back out with an array of tins, bottles and jars, which he deposited on the table in front of her. "Right, what do we have here…?" He sorted through the various items... "Potted shrimp... Mauk's meat sauce... erm... what's this?" He blew the dust off and squinted at the writing. "Ah. That's a jar of rollmops, which I'm quite sure have been there since nineteen sixty something… oh, but these might be more to your liking... pickled quails' eggs… and a jar of… what's that say…?" He held the item at arms length. "French pa-_té...?_ Hmmm…"

Meanwhile, Jazzie was liberally pouring brown sauce all over her brown food. However, the moment she heard the word 'paté', she eagerly grabbed the jar and tried to open it. She gritted her teeth and fought to turn the wretched thing, but it refused to budge.

"Do you want a hand with that?"

She shook her head, uncomfortably aware that he'd been watching her the whole time. What was it? Soldered on? "No, I'm fine… I-"

"Give it here." He plucked it out of her grasp and popped the lid off with an ease that left her feeling significantly more feeble.

"Thank you," she said, as he handed it back.

"No problem." He helped himself to a quail's egg, shuddering covertly at the unexpected acid attack on his tongue, while obliquely watching her as she mixed everything together, looking for all the world like a witch stirring a caldron. "How's the brew?"

She gave her weird concoction a small taste and nodded satisfactorily. "Is much better. You want to try?" She offered him a spoon, but he politely waved it away.

_"Ta perte!"_ she thought, and continued to eat in silence, though could feel his eyes on her while she did, apparently waiting for her to finish; something she found tricky to do because she could only eat on one side. More than once, she made the mistake of biting down on the other, causing pain to run through her like a cold shockwave, and vowed to chew more cautiously from then on in.

Unfortunately, this meant that she took even longer to finish, and was acutely aware of his claws drumming on the table, signalling his waning tolerance… until finally, he seemed to get bored of this and went off to fetch something, leaving her to eat on her own.

When he eventually returned, carrying something in a long, leather case, she had finally polished off the food and was busily washing her bowl and spoon, and so hardly noticed him stow whatever it was under the table.

"Are you done?" He asked, sitting back down.

"Yes. Just a minute..."

"Let's get this over with, shall we?"

She wiped her paws and swallowed. She didn't want to admit it, but she was still a bit afraid of him.

"Well?" He exhorted, his curt manner not helping her confidence in the slightest. "Can you do it, or not?"

She nodded and started fumbling in the bag for some clean latex gloves. "Yes… um…"

"Something wrong?"

"No..." She busied herself with a pair of gloves that appeared to be a little big for her. "I-I just… hope you're not still angry with me?"

He looked nonplussed. "Why would I be angry?"

"I-I don't know. For earlier?" _Oh! These fichu gloves!_

He was quiet for a moment, watching her fight with the finicky garments, then said in a gentler tone, "I'm not angry with you. I'm sorry if it seems that way."

Swallowing, she carefully fitted the pince nez onto her nose and stepped in closer. "If you could lower your head for me?" She requested, and he duly obliged, allowing her to peer more closely at the wound.

"Am I about to die?" He joked, noticing her frown.

"No," she replied. "But Jellylorum was right. It'll need stitches if it is not to scar."

"Oh, I have plenty of those," he scoffed. "What is one more?"

She took a furtive look at him and saw that _that_ much was true. But the cut was in a tricky place. Right on his eyebrow. "If I don't stitch it, it may not heal properly. It would mar your looks... which would be a shame."

"May I ask why you are so concerned for my looks?"

She shrugged. "You said yourself you don't want to look like monster."

"Well then, you'd better get on with it, hadn't you?"

"You really _are_ grumpy…!" she muttered to herself, adding in an even tone, "I need to ask you some questions, if that's ok?"

"Yep. Sure."

So she began in a text book, monotone fashion: "Any dizziness, or feeling sick?"

"No."

"Any headaches or migraine?"

"Apart from the obvious, no."

"Have you collapsed or fainted?"

He gave her a look. "No."

"How many claws am I holding up?"

"Two."

Done with the questioning, she picked up the forceps, needle and suture… and froze.

He sighed impatiently. "What's wrong now?"

"I-I looked in the bag… but I was unable to find any Lidocaine." However, if she'd expected him to be in any way bothered by that, then she was surprisingly mistaken.

"Whatever. It's not essential."

"But-"

"Do it anyway."

"But, Sir-!" she objected. "The pain of having a wound stitched without anaesthetic-"

"Wouldn't be half as bad if you just stopped talking about it and got on with it!"

His voice only held a small degree of annoyance, yet still, she nashed her teeth together with sudden fury. "I was about to say… _Sir..._ that I don't wish to cause you any unnecessary pain!"

He glanced out of the corner of his eye. "And you think that leaving me to sit here with a gaping wound, listening to you carping on ISN'T unnecessary pain?"

She opened her mouth to retort, but quickly shut it again, realising he'd made a valid point, even if he WAS being rude and obnoxious! "Fine. Do you want to bite down on something before I start?"

_'Yes! Your head!'_ he thought. "That won't be necessary," he assured her, though she looked far from convinced.

"Ok," she sighed. "Hold still."

With deft precision, she guided the needle under his skin and watched his jaw tighten. "You ok?"

"Yep." He muttered through gritted teeth.

"Sorry if I'm hurting you."

"It's fine."

She worked as quickly and as carefully as she could, and despite having no anaesthetic, he managed to keep still and calm, just the increased resonance of his breathing being the only indication that he was feeling any discomfort.

"Last one…" she promised, as she started to lay the eighth and final knot, then at long last, cut the remaining thread. "And I'm all done. Do you want to see?"

"No. I trust you," was his laconic reply.

She sighed, peeling off the gloves. "Well then… unless there's anything else, I would like to go back to bed, if you don't mind?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug, that she figured could have meant just about anything, so she wordlessly tidied up, washed her paws, and then went to lie down, thinking how unfriendly this tom was. _"Either he is a mean old hog or he doesn't like me!"_ she huffed to herself, closing her eyes.

Feeling frustrated, she turned over, but found that side to be deeply uncomfortable, so fidgeted another way, causing her friends to stir in annoyance. "Sorry!" She lay still, willing for sleep to come; although it was clear it wasn't going to come easily, and it didn't exactly help that someone had started to play music! Scowling, she turned her head towards the culprit.

_Grrr! That tom again?!_

The Maine Coon was still sitting in the chair by the stove, but now looked much more relaxed, with his feet resting upon another and his ridiculously long, barred tail draping down the back. Far from being the dark storm she'd seen earlier, he seemed preoccupied and completely oblivious to any disturbance he may have been causing. Bearing a remarkable resemblance to a languishing tiger, his eyes were half closed and he was using the claws of his left paw to pluck the strings of a strange looking guitar. At least, that was the loose term for what could only be described as a disused oil can, complete with a scrap wood fretboard and wire strings.

Periodically, he would stop picking in order to adjust the screws on either side of the headstock, before starting to play again, the bluesy riff making her throat tighten... and she wasn't sure why. _"Maybe he isn't angry,"_ she thought. _"Maybe he's just sad?"_

Curiosity got the better of her, so she got up and quietly snuck over.

"You still up?" He asked, without looking at her.

"I-I heard you playing," she excused, feeling cross with herself for broadcasting just how awfully nervous she was.

"Sorry if I disturbed you," he said, continuing to meddle with the strings. "I like to practice when I have nothing else to do."

"I couldn't sleep anyway," she admitted, then gestured towards the guitar. "Do you sing too?"

"Sometimes," he replied, with a slight shift of his shoulders that inadvertently drew her attention to their Samsonian broadness, and not for the first time. However, the rest of him remained impassively stolid.

_Why is he so unfriendly?_ She wondered again. "Fine, then…" She tried not to sound dejected. "You obviously want to be left alone." And she turned on her heel and started to head back to-

"Wait."

His voice was enough to stop her in her tracks and turn around, to see that he had stopped playing and was leaning back, rubbing his chin with his fingertips in a brooding fashion. "Would you like to sit down?" He flashed her a look that was heavily guarded, but not unfriendly. Still, she was in two minds.

After hesitating for a few heartbeats, she found herself walking back over.

He removed his feet from the chair and she pulled it out to a reasonable distance, flinching at the painfully loud scraping noise it made against the wooden floor, before perching on the edge of it.

"You don't need to be so afraid of me," he said. "I don't bite, you know." And with that, he resumed playing.

"Sorry…" she said, and pulled the chair a little closer, very glad to have the soft hum of the instrument to distract her from the heat emitting from her ears and the throb of her heart, sounding like a drum inside them. "What's it called, the tune you're playing?"

"It hasn't got a name… I'm just mucking about really." _Mucking about? Was he for real?_

"I don't suppose you take requests?" She weedled, earning herself the ghost of a smile.

"Sure. What do you want me to play?"

She shrugged. "Anything, I don't mind."

He noodled a bit more, as though trying to decide himself what to play, turning a knob here, and there, until the tuning was to his liking. Then, he began to play properly, filling the room with a melody that was subdued, yet at the same time, imbued with a heartfelt longing and sadness.

As the words tumbled from his lips, he seemed to be somewhere else, far on the restless waters that he was singing about; his rich baritone conveying the story so hauntingly, that the hairs on the back of her neck shivered.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she pressed a finger to her lips, but tears spilled out before she could stop them. Oh no! Why did this have to happen now!?

_"Long afloat on shipless oceans_

_I did all my best to smile_

_'Til your singing eyes and fingers_

_Drew me loving to your isle_

_And you sang_

_Sail to me_

_Sail to me_

_Let me enfold you_

_Here I am_

_Here I am_

_Waiting to hold you_

_Did I dream you dreamed about me?_

_Were you here when I was forced out?_

_Now my foolish boat is leaning_

_Broken lovelorn on your rocks_

_For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow._

_Oh my heart, Oh my heart shies from the sorrow."_

_Well I'm as puzzled as the newborn child_

_I'm as riddled as the tide_

_Should I stand amid the breakers?_

_Or should I lie with death, my bride?_

_Hear me sing, "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you._

_Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you."_

He finished singing and glanced at her, noticing she'd gone quiet. "You ok?"

"Oui..."

Propping the guitar next to his chair, he reached back, unhooked a tea cloth from the door of the stove and passed it to her.

"Merci…" She took it from him and wiped her eyes. "...Sorry…"

"It's ok." He watched her fight to get herself under control, and felt his chest tighten, as though a cold paw had reached inside and given his heart a firm squeeze. "Want to tell me what's up? It's ok if you don't…" He smirked. "Was it my singing?"

She winced as she accidentally touched one of her bruises. "No-no. I've never heard anything like it-"

"That bad?"

"No…" She almost laughed. "Honestly… you put yourself down too much! That was beautiful."

"Oh. Well… I... er…" He cleared his throat, trying not to look overly flattered. "I honestly don't know what to say."

"It's just that song," she explained. "It made me think of my- some things I miss."

"We all have things we miss." His manner grew suddenly dark, giving her the sense that she'd inadvertently struck a nerve.

"One of them was… Theos," she blurted, and watched him go very still.

"Theos Reedgothan? Kenyan chap?"

"You knew him?"

"I heard about... what happened."

She looked down at her paws. Paws which were clasped tightly in her lap. "How do you know about that?"

He tried to decide how much to say. "Word gets around. We played at the same venue as his band one time."

She suddenly looked up. "Oh really? Where?"

"The George Tavern."

"Hmmm." She looked thoughtful. "What band were you part of?"

"The Red Herrings..." and the tone of his voice conveyed the unspoken question: "Have you heard of us?" Which, to his surprise, she had!

"Oh yes! He used to rave about you all the time," she exclaimed, which made him smile a little.

"Did he, really?"

She nodded, rolling her eyes. "Oh que _oui!_ He moaned about how your band was on straight after his and how you were so awesome that no one even remembers his set, and that the crowd just went crazy for _le gentleman_ who played lead guitar..." She pressed a forefinger to her chin and thought again for a moment. "Hmmm… what did he say his name was again...?" She went through a list in her head, but it was right on the tip of her tongue. "Tum Tum… Tum Rum... Oh! I can't remember it…!"

"I think _'le gentleman'_ you're referring to is Rum Tum Tugger?" He offered, mimicking her French pronunciation.

And she must have noticed his expression change, because she inquired, "He is friend of yours?"

"In the loosest possible sense."

"How do you mean?"

He replied indifferently, "We get to choose our friends. Pity it's not like that with family."

"Oh! So, he's your brother?"

"One of two," he muttered, while she rambled on, well aware that she was doing so, but nerves seemed to have gotten hold of her tongue... "Never met him myself, but I remember Theos telling me about all the wild things he did. Why, you'd have thought he had a thing for him, he went on about him so much! Funny how he never mentioned you though…"

"Hmmm…" Munkustrap was looking out of the window, not that there was anything particularly interesting to see out of it. "There's a reason why we don't play together very often."

She chuckled knowingly. "The battle of the guitars."

"Which he usually wins, being the better player; though don't tell him I said that. He already digs me about it."

"Unfairly, judging by what I just heard," she surmised.

"Yeah, well…" He gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I tend to stick to blues, while he does rock and roll. That way, I avoid getting my toes crushed."

She waited a few beats to allow this information to sink in, and then asked, "What is it about blues that you like?"

He let out a long breath before answering. "I don't know. I guess I like it because it's not constrained. It can be moody or depressing, or it can be uplifting. I'm all for freedom of expression and that's what blues is mostly about... and also the relationship between the guitar and the vocals. I find it cathartic… and much more cerebral than rock. "

She had been slowly nodding in agreement. "I definitely think blues has more style than rock."

"Really?" He rested a paw to his chin and fixed her with a look that was difficult to gauge.

"I mean… I _do_ like Rock sometimes," she carried on. "But it tends to bore me after awhile, you know?"

"Why does it bore you?"

She shrugged. "It just sounds the same to me. I suppose it's more about showing off, whereas blues, like you sort of said, is more about emotion, and that's what makes it individualistic. You can always tell a blues player by the unique way they play."

He gave a nod of approval. "I shall certainly take that into consideration the next time my brother tells me my music taste is more depressing than a choir of lost souls singing The Last Vigil."

She softly giggled. "You're funny."

"Ah... well..." He massaged the back of his neck, looking a tad uncomfortable for a moment, then carried on as though nothing had affected his tough composure. "But yeah, like you say, I have nothing against rock. It's a way of getting people up and dancing, and really, it's still blues, just without all that emotion. It's about having a good time, whereas blues addresses the everyday and the mundane... the ordinary individual, the struggle they face-"

"The pain they feel."

Her statement hung awkwardly in the air, and neither of them really wanted to add to it.

"So?" He clasped his paws together in an effort to move the discussion onwards. "Music and medicine? An interesting combination?"

"I have loved to sing ever since I was little," she said truthfully. "But my mother, being a Healer, insisted that my siblings and I studied medicine." She did an impression of her mother: "'Dancing and singing are all very well,' she would say, 'but what happens if you break a leg or lose your voice?' So, I did both."

"Must've been tough?"

"It was," she admitted. "But it doesn't seem like work if you enjoy what you do, and it was also how I met Theos."

His eyes narrowed as he kept up with what she was saying. "He was part of The Rockits, if I remember?"

She nodded. "The drummer, yes. They wanted backing singers, and because Tensey, Luce, Star and I already performed together, it worked out really well. He liked my singing too, so he let me lead a few times, and then it just sort of became a regular thing." She smiled wistfully. "My English wasn't great when I met him, and he didn't speak much French. But he could speak English, so that was how we communicated. And… well… one thing led to another... and soon after, I found out I was..." Her smile suddenly faded.

"I was about to say congratulations," Munkustrap said quietly, "but I guess that wouldn't be appropriate?"

She sorrowfully shook her head, and his eyes shone with sympathy.

"What happened?"

She shakily inhaled, and then exhaled. "The night we were taken, we'd just finished a gig. Theos tried to stop them. They… they..." She put a paw to her mouth and Munkustrap sat forwards.

"It's ok. You don't have to-"

"I can't stop thinking about it," she faltered... "About what they did!"

He realised he was holding her paw. "I'm sorry, I really am."

"Not your fault."

She didn't react to the paw holding hers, but it seemed inappropriate for him to let go somehow, so he kept holding it, feeling her childlike fingers resting in his, which were ample and indurated by comparison; while at the same time, running a thumb over the delicate ridge of her knuckles, as he asked in as gentle a tone as he could manage, "What about your kittens?"

As predicted, the question made her flinch, as though she'd been stung. Gritting her teeth, she practically spat, "I lost ALL of them! Except for one." Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks... "They took him from me. I don't know where he is, or even if he is still-"

"You mustn't think the worst!" He interrupted. "It'll do you no good at all."

"But I could have done more!" She maintained. "I should have tried to-"

"I'm quite sure you did everything you possibly could to protect that baby of yours." He was gripping her paw very tightly now. "If I may ask... did he have a name?"

She replied hoarsely, "Kayan. He'd be a month old by now."

"Hmm." He'd make some enquiries… that much he _could_ vow!

"You'll try to find him?"

She grasped his paw, pleading with eyes that were a dazzling blue and filled with such hope that he didn't know how to reply. "I'll find out what I can, but-"

"Oh! Thank you so much! Thank you...!"

"Miss…" He looked torn. "I'll do what I can, but I can't make any promises." He wished he could have told her differently. Only to curb the look of crumbling disappointment on her bruised face.

"Of course…" she dropped her paws into her lap. "I understand."

She didn't, but that was probably the least of his worries. He swept a paw through his head fur and silently berated himself for giving her false expectations, when the odds of finding her son were about a million to one. "The thing is," he attempted to explain, "what we are dealing with is a highly secretive and capricious organisation. Keeping one step ahead of it is like trying to keep one's head above quicksand-"

"You are one step ahead now," she interrupted. "Does that mean he'll come after you?"

The bastard who was behind almost every depraved act, vile homicide and mysterious disappearance of late, he knew only too well. His grim face confirmed her fears without him having to say anything.

A paw went to her mouth and she glanced around as though fearing something was behind her, her eyes wide like saucers.

"Jazz-!"

"You should not have put yourself in danger for me!" She was suddenly so stricken that she seemed to have forgotten where she was, and in the end he had to grab her by the shoulders.

"It's too late for that!"

She slowly focused on him, and to his relief, the glazed look in her eyes slowly lifted. "I promise you will be safe here. I shall personally see to it."

"But, what about-?"

"The malefactor?" He tore his gaze from hers and looked towards a random corner of the room. "He is a long standing enemy of the Jellicle people. I just so happen to be at the top of his hit list."

"May I ask why?"

"You don't need to know that." He placed his paw on her forehead, using his thumb to pull back the scarf. "Does that hurt?"

"A little." She tried not to wince, but it was obvious she was in pain.

He looked thoughtful. "If you like, I can do something about it."

Seeing her apprehensiveness, he chuckled. "You don't even know what I'm going to do yet!"

"Will it hurt?"

"It might do."

Curious, she swung her legs around to the side of the chair and he rose from his seat.

"Close your eyes."

She did as instructed.

Closing his, he placed a paw on her forehead and began to incant.

Words that were indecipherable began to echo around them. They rustled in her ears like dried up leaves and her face began to itch and feel hot, like a thousand ants were crawling over her and biting her flesh! She clutched the edge of her seat, fighting the urge to scratch!

Meanwhile, a glow as bright as the moon surrounded them, encasing their forms with its milky radiance, while the whispers increased in volume and his breaths grew short.

With immense strain, he pulled away, taking tendrils of electricity, like strings of neon spaghetti, snaking and crackling around his wrist, quickly travelled the length of his arm and dissolving into his chest like the branches of a tree growing in reverse.

As they did, he let out a constricted gasp and his eyes snapped open, revealing black voids where teal and gold irises ought to have been...

Alerted by a noise akin to a sack of potatoes being dropped onto a hard surface, Jazzie snapped open her eyes to find the silver Maine coon lying sprawled across the floor, apparently not breathing.

Throwing herself down, she began to furiously shake him and call his name. "Munkustrap? Sir? Can you hear me? You can't die on me...!" But there was no response.

Cursing in French, she rushed over to her friends and tried to rouse them. "Tensey! Luce! Star! Wake up! Something's happened!" But they just groaned and batted her off.

"Jazz! Cut it out…!"

Giving up, she saw the medical bag on the table and charged over to it. Looking inside, she grabbed the first item: a stethoscope. And was there a watch? Yes!

She took the items back to the inert Maine Coon, stuck the ear pieces into her ears and pressed the diaphragm into his chest. Then she listened._ "Hmmm…"_ she thought. _"Heartbeat is slow,_ _but he is not dead, at least-"_

"What are you doing?" He suddenly regained consciousness and stared at her.

"Trying to help you," she quickly answered, and felt her heart steady as his eyes started to register hazy recognition of her. But then he doubled up, grimacing as though in terrible pain.

"Sir? Are you ok?" She touched his arm and found he clearly wasn't. He felt like he was on fire!

With a shaking paw, he pointed and gasped, "Pills… cabinet...!"

Without delay, she hurried to the place where they were kept, then raced back again with a pawful of bottles and jars. "Which ones?"

He pointed to an obsidian genie bottle. She pulled out the cork and shook out a small, black capsule. "How many?"

He held up a finger, and she gently put it between his teeth and watched him swallow it. "I've never seen a pill like that before."

"That's because it isn't your standard medicine."

Her eyes widened. "You mean, somebody made it specifically for you?"

He nodded. "Don't worry. I'll be alright in a minute." Indeed, the tension in his forehead had begun to ease, and that made her feel more at ease.

"I must say, you gave me quite a fright." She was still able to feel her heart pounding! "How do you feel now?"

He gave a weak grin. "Like I could run ten thousand miles."

"If you had a death wish!" she hissed. "Now, lie still, so I can work out what's wrong with you-"

"I already know."

Her eyes narrowed. "Know what?"

He shook his head. "I can't tell you. If I did, I would have to kill you."

"Can't tell me what?!"

He laughed quietly. "Nice try."

But she couldn't see what was so funny. "If I am to be your doctor, then surely you should tell me?"

"You wouldn't understand."

Her face became set in a determined scowl. "Why don't you try me?"

"Because," he reposted bluntly. "I'm really not up to explaining the complexity, elemental abnormality and sheer mind-boggling mystery of magic to you. Does that answer your question?"

She folded her arms and huffed, "It most certainly does NOT!"

"None of this is supposed to make sense," he said, with frank sincerity. "Stick to what you're good at and we'll have no trouble." He suddenly looked deadly serious. "But you must promise not to tell anyone about this. Do you understand?"

She shook her head fervently. "I won't-"

He pressed on, "It's vital that no one knows- not even your colleagues. If the wrong people were to find out…"

She smiled genuinely and held up her paw. "I swear, on my Doctor's Oath, that I will not tell a soul."

He looked at her quizzically. "And I'm supposed to trust that, am I?"

She'd just started to say something, when without warning, he reached out and grabbed her face.

She flinched, but sat rigidly as he turned her head to the side, his eyes narrowing. "Hmmm. That turned out better than I thought."

He withdrew his paw and she instinctively touched her cheek. "What is it? Does it look bad or something?"

He looked at her. There really were no words...

"Monsieur?"

He made a face. "Please. Could you dispense with the Monsieur and the Sir? I'm not a sir, and need I remind you, I have a name!"

She looked down at the floor, and he had to reflect that may have been a little harsh.

He sighed. "However... if you struggle with my awfully complicated name, you can always call me Munk. Everyone else does."

"It is a strange name..." She reflected, not realising she'd spoken out loud until he snorted.

"It wouldn't have been my first choice."

"Oh no… I didn't mean-!"

"I know what you meant. We all have strange names, and soon you'll understand why. But right now, I'm shattered."

"Let me get you a pillow. Hold on…"

He started to protest, but too late. She raced across the room, and came back again with hers. "Here."

He gave her a look, but took it anyway. "Thanks."

"That's more comfortable, _oui?"_

She was answered by a two syllabled grunt, which she gathered meant 'yes', seeing as his eyes were already closed. "Um…" She lightly tapped his arm. "S-? Munk?"

"Mmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me pretty much anything."

"Why did you heal my face, if you knew it would make you ill?"

He opened his eyes. "Because…" He sighed heavily and closed them again. "He attacked you because of me."

She shook her head. "Uh uh! Hooker is vile monster. He kill so many innocent queens, simply because they got in his way!"

"Still. I was slow to act..."

She placed her paw on his arm. "You acted. And by doing so you saved my life. I never thanked you for that."

"Would've been a wasted afternoon if I'd just let you die," he mumbled, and five minutes later, his steady breathing told her that she would be getting no more out of him.

The fire inside the stove had died to embers and the candle had gone out.

Shivering a little, she looked over at the bed where her friends were sleeping. It looked cosy and inviting, even if Hortenseya WAS snoring loudly. But then…_ "I suppose I'd better stay with him,"_ she thought. _"Just in case…"_

* * *

Sometime later- a good number of hours later in actual fact- when the tom eventually awoke, the first thing he noticed was a gnawing ache, of the sort that made him feel like his entire body had been stuffed inside a cement mixer and tossed about with a load of granite blocks.

The second was the milky light filtering in through the window, and the sound of a robin singing somewhere just outside of it.

The third was a slight weight against his shoulder, where a pretty young thing lay slumped, snoring only very softly, but in a way that made him smile, in spite of the discomfort he was feeling.


	5. The Slick

From outside the office of the Slick Casino, a commotion could be heard coming from within. To passers by, it sounded as though someone was being murdered… but no-one stopped to investigate. For the simple reason that murders were all the rage in this part of town. In fact, they were so common that you could get them to order, and they usually came with a side of chips.

However, if someone had been foolhardy enough to look inside, they would indeed have witnessed a scene of utter carnage. Several cats were dead, and a black Bombay was pinned against the far wall with his feet dangling. "You let them ESCAPE!?" snarled a voice.

"Macavity...Sir…!" Lawrence tried to explain, though it was hard for him to talk- the force was slowly crushing his ribs! "We were tricked sir!"

"Tricked?" The red Maine coon's amber eyes narrowed. "I didn't hire you as an advisor so that you could be tricked, Lawrence! I hired you because you are the best! Or is that not the case?"

"I was not tricked sir... I saw through his disguise sir!"

"Who's disguise?"

"The tom who helped them escape. He was a Jellicle. Said his name was Floresca, but I knew it was a lie. I sent the best guards after him, Sir…"

"Did any come back?"

"None of them sir."

That took the fiend's mind off crushing the tom like a coke can for a moment. He paused, arm still outstretched... "A Jellicle, you say?" he said in a well spoken, English accent; but with a sound like blackened steel. "What exactly did this... Jellicle, look like?"

"S-S-Silver... black... tabby stripes!"

"I see. That is… most intriguing..."

Macavity let go of the tom, simply letting him fall to the floor in a heap. "Evelyne!" he barked.

When there was no answer, Macavity's eyes began to glow red. "EVELYNE!" he roared. "Kindly answer me, you useless pile of junk!"

A grey monitor in the corner sluggishly sputtered into life.

"What do you want?" The computer snapped in a monotone voice that sounded vaguely female. "I was halfway through upgrading my systems. Now, I shall have to start again. You bastard."

"I don't care if you were filing your nails!" Macavity hissed. "I want the names and faces of all the Silver tabbies this side of Middlesex! And make it snappy!"

The computer appeared to sigh moodily, and, a few excruciating minutes later, thumbnails began to appear on the screen. Over twenty thousand of them.

"Now Lawrence," said Macavity. "I need you to be a little more specific. Let's start with: Was it a male?"

"Yes sir," Lawrence quickly replied, and ten thousand thumbnails instantly vanished.

"Height?"

"Around 6 foot something."

"Fur? Long or short?"

"Long, Sir."

"Breed?"

"Definitely Maine Coon, with a bit of Bengal thrown in. The eyes were not Maine Coon, of that I am certain."

At that, only one thumbnail remained. Lawrence pointed to it, still holding his ribs, "That's him, Sir! That's definitely him!"

Macavity enlarged the picture, and stood staring at it for a long time. "Computer! Information on this individual!" he ordered.

"Need I remind you my name is Evelyne." it replied moodily.

"Just get on with it you pathetic box, before I fry your harddrive!"

"Munkustrap Moonsilver. Last known location: Lodger's scrap yard…" As the computer listed off everything it had on the individual, including his birth date, star sign and family members, all the way down to his favourite kittenhood cuddly toy, Macavity stroked the beard-like fur on his chin.

"Sooo?" he mused. "My brother thinks he can steal from me, does he? Well, well, well! That is a turn up for the books. Perhaps I will not kill you after all Lawrence!"

He started to laugh. An evil, insane laugh that reverberated around the casino and sent shivers down the spines of all those present… including a rat which was listening in the shadows.


	6. A Raven and A Red Queen

Munkustrap considered leaving Jazzie where she was, but her shivering made him decide to move her to somewhere warmer, seeing as she probably wouldn't appreciate being left alone on a cold, hard floor.

Very stiffly, because his neck was sore (in fact, all of him was) he picked her up and carried her across to the bed, easing her onto the pillows and trying not to be too clumsy about it.

However, the problem came when he tried to remove his arm.

As delicate as he set out to be, an accidental jolt caused her to flinch and make a noise of complaint.

He covered her with a blanket, like he used to do with his older kittens when they were small, and prayed that would be enough. She didn't look much older herself. Possibly no more than four years of age, with an innocence about her that was at odds with her harsh introduction to life.

As she slowly lulled herself back to sleep, he found it hard to look away. She had a peculiar affect on him, and that unsettled him to some degree.

He lived the majority of his existence in a state of dutiful numbness, in a world that was regimented and disciplined, and that was just how he liked it. People whispered that he was cold hearted and subfusc, but he didn't care. Feelings were for the weak minded, and that was something he simply couldn't afford to be.

Disregarding her for the time being, he headed for the door. He had an appointment to keep and he realised he was running abnormally late. With a nod to one of the guards to keep an eye on things, he slipped out of the gate and headed in a South Easterly direction.

His thirty minute trek was largely uneventful, save for a few herring gulls who tried to mob him as he took one of their fledglings. He ate the bird in relative safety, behind someone's tool shed, but kept a bit of the meat, carrying it between his teeth.

As he traversed through the hustle and bustle of the city, with its Aston Martins and Bentleys that refused to stop for pedestrians, and pedestrians who were too busy to stop for them, he moved silently and purposely, keeping to the undergrowth when there was a scant amount be had, and to fleeting shadows wherever else. To humans who spotted him, he appeared as a large tabby feline, with silver fur that was a touch on the shaggy side, as it shed the last vestiges of winter growth. From the look of his tufted ears, those in the know would have guessed his breeding to be Maine Coon. Whereas those with rather less insight would have sworn blind that they'd spotted a lynx in the middle of London.

As soon as he ventured out of human sight, he appeared in his true form. A cat man of around six foot and two inches in height, which was above average for most Jellicles, but average for a Protector.

Going at a leisurely trot, he eventually arrived at an area called St. Kathryn and Wapping, stopping just outside The Tower of London. There, he held out the meat, cupped a paw to his mouth and made a series of vaguely corvid-like calls.

After a few seconds, a dark shape swooped out of the twilight and glided to a stall, landing gracefully on his arm. With a blink of its beady eye, it snapped up the meat in its dagger-like bill, then hopped up onto his shoulder.

"Good evening, Quawar. Thank you for your help last night."

The raven made a grating rasp in the back of its throat, cocking its head to the side as Munkustrap scanned across the river, the wind ruffling his long fur. "I need another favour."

Inserting a small piece of folded paper into a silver capsule around its neck, he said, "Deliver this message to Cat Morgan. From the things I have heard, it appears our enemy has developed a penchant for abducting kittens. I need to find out where he is keeping them and for what purpose. I cannot see him becoming a social worker, somehow."

The bird made another small noise and fluffed its feathers.

"Yes, I have it." He held up a diamond and emerald drop earring, which the bird took with the utmost delicacy. "You may have the second when Morgan receives the message, and the matching necklace upon receivement of the information I specified."

The bird bowed and then launched itself into the air, flying in the direction of the tower.

Meanwhile, Munkustrap headed back, taking a slightly different route in order to avoid being tracked, and soon approached the cafe where he had planned to meet his mate and young son. However, he could see from a short distance away that there was no one there.

"Excuse me?" he said, speaking to a young waitress who was cleaning a table. "You haven't by any chance seen Demeter, have you?"

The blue-point Tonkinese stopped what she was doing. "No, sorry. Were you supposed to meet her here?"

"Yes, but I am late."

"Maybe she is too?" She suggested. "Do you want to wait for a bit and I'll bring you a tea or coffee?"

He politely declined. "Do you think you can take a message?"

"Sure." She took out her notepad and pen.

"Tell her something came up. I'll come and find her later on."

"Got that." She put her notepad away. "Sorry I couldn't have been any more help."

"No worries," he replied, starting to leave. "Good evening to you."

"Same to you, sir," she returned, before going inside.

He crossed the street, careful to look left and right as he did so. One car beeped at him, but he responded in that way that a lot of cats tend to do. He pretended to be deaf.

Getting to the other side, looking suitably unlike a cat pancake (much to the relief of several human onlookers and the disappointment of at least one), he pushed his way into a shop, causing the bell to tinkle and the smell of peroxide to invade his nose. He could never get used to that smell! It was so pungent he could practically taste it, and had to momentarily stop breathing. How queens could stand it, he'd never know!

"Is Bombi here?" he asked the golden Abyssinian at the counter, having to grin and bear the smell so that he could actually speak.

"Do you have an appointment?" She inquired, checking her records.

"I do, though I am a little early."

"Indeed, you are," the queen commented. "I'm afraid she's busy with a client at the moment."

"Yes. I can hear."

A series of loud thumps could be heard from upstairs, followed by a series of stifled moans. Bast only knew what she was doing to him.

"Was there anything specific you wanted doing?" She asked, breaking through his thoughts.

"I just wanted to use the shower, really."

The queen was scanning the appointment book, then her eyes landed on something scrawled in black biro on a post-it note. "Ah yes," she said, after picking it up and reading it. "Go on up. You know where it is? First door on the right?"

"Yeah. Cheers." He made his way upstairs to the bathroom, trying to ignore the howls that were coming from the room a few doors down.

Turning on the shower, he let the roar of the water drown them out, quickly washing off the remainder of last night's filth, which included blood from numerous cuts he didn't realise he had.

He was just drying himself when muffled voices reached his ears, followed by the sound of a door opening, causing the same voices to become intrusively loud. Through the frosted glass, he could make out one of the speakers.

A portly black and white silhouette chortled bombastically to someone he couldn't see, although he knew full well who it was by her husky fake laugh.

"Thank you for that, my dear. I particularly enjoyed that thing you did with the whip. Absolutely marvelous! I feel like quite the new tom!"

Munkustrap involuntarily cringed.

"Any time, Mr Jones. Same time next week?"

"Yes yes! That would be splendid!"

He saw a russet smudge appear, giving an innocent finger wave as her customer bumbled off downstairs. "Toodle loo!" She cooed sweetly, then waited until he was gone before turning to the frosted glass.

Playfully tapping her claws on it, she dropped her voice to a suggestive purr. "I am ready for my next client whenever he is."

Unable to hide a smirk, he ditched the towel and opened the door. "What in Hell…?"

The smirk froze on his lips at the sight of his ex mate.

Curvaceous and buxom, the red Somali's cleavage was practically spilling out of a corset that was several sizes too small. At a jaunty angle on her head, sat an army cap that made her look like the sergeant major of a very specific regiment, designed to take down a very specific kind of tom. However, the thing that really drew his attention was also one of her most striking qualities.

Enviously long and strong enough to crush a tom's spine, her legs were adorned with fishnet stockings and suspenders, a detail that caused his eyebrows to practically disappear into his head fur.

To complete the look, a horse whip was casually resting against her shoulder, while the smile on her lips would have frightened the devil into submission.

"Sweetie, the look on your face is priceless."

He was a little lost for words, and so couldn't answer immediately. When he found his voice, the only thing he could manage was a staggered, "Love the, um... new look."

She tapped the whip against her teeth in a dangerous fashion. "I was going for sexy army majoress. HE certainly seemed to appreciate it. Pity _you_ don't."

He groaned. "Why Bustopher?"

"He pays good money! How else is a girl supposed to pay the overheads on this place?"

He tentatively suggested, "You could try asking me. I know things haven't exactly been easy between us, but I still-"

"I don't need your help!" She snapped, and then pointed down the hall. "I just need you to get in that room!"

"Any particular reason-?"

"Do I need to spell it out?"

"I'd have thought you'd have burned yourself out, judging by what I just heard. It sounded like you were murdering him."

She hissed, baring her teeth. "I didn't fuck him, Munk! I'm not some cheap whore!"

"I never said you were."

"Please," she said, suddenly pleading. "Just help me burn the image of him coming out of my mind?"

"Bombi, this is madness…!"

He tried to argue, but that wide-eyed pouty thing she always did when she wanted to get her way had him inadvertently nodding. "Fine," he sighed. "But go easy on me. I'm a little sore."

"Oh, _I'll_ go easy on you…" she promised, her voice switching to a low hum, and he wondered if it was too late to back out.

She grabbed his wrist and dragged him along the hallway, and although his conscience was screaming at him, he couldn't quite refrain from admiring the way she wobbled as she swayed her hips gracefully from side to side, the effect almost hypnotic. So, yes, was the answer to that question.

"May I ask why you're wearing that stuff?"

"It's just a kink," she replied as she led him into a room filled with tawdry decorations that he supposed were meant to be titillating. "Why? Do you like it?"

"I'd rather you took it off. It's obscuring my view."

She swatted his leg with her tail. "View of what, Mr. Protector?"

"Er… nevermind."

Her response to that was to shut the door and push him up against it, kissing him aggressively whilst tearing at his fur. Bast! What had he done to deserve this?!

He kept his paws in an 'I surrender' position, hoping to not provoke her anymore. She was hurting him, but he knew better than to fight back or complain; not that he could or had any inclination to. Every brain cell had migrated south as she pushed him easily onto the bed and hitched her leg up.

"You think my rear is fine?"

"More than fine," he replied, catching his breath and obediently unclipping the suspenders. "It IS the finest."

She raised an eyebrow and puckered her lips. "Oh, yeah?"

"We've been over this…" With a few swift movements, he tore off the stockings, throwing each one carelessly over his shoulder, then felt the curvature of her waist. "You shouldn't cover your best assets with such silly items."

With a deft squeeze, the busks were unclipped and the corset slipped down to her ankles, followed by the suspender belt. "You can keep the hat on though."

She moaned blissfully at being freed from the restrictive garment, "I must say, it feels good to breathe… and I do love it when you talk dirty, Mister. Go on. Say something else. Something really revolting."

He pulled an arch smile, knowing he didn't need to because his paws were achieving what words could not, travelling over her sleek figure and finding all the places that made her shiver. It was like pressing buttons, only a lot more fun. "You know I'm not really into all that bedroom talk."

Of course, she knew that. Still, there was no harm in teasing him. "Oh? Then what _are_ you into?"

He chuckled as he found a favoured spot. "Less talking."

She sighed as she settled into his lap and started to kiss him deeply, while her paws caressed his ears. She let out a throaty moan as his paw found her breast, while the other grasped a pawful of buttock. He would never know how much she had missed this!

He rolled her over onto the bed, pressing his body into hers while his paws wandered wherever they wanted to. Her claws raked down his back, both of them hissing with pleasure each time one nipped the other, permeated by more aggressive kissing until finally she fought her way to be on top again. Of course, no tom owned her, and she'd make him pay dearly for forgetting!

* * *

The golden Abyssinian rolled her eyes as moans and bliss-filled cries filtered through the floorboards. Smiling apologetically, she turned up the radio.

"Bomba's massages are legendary," she explained to the elderly queen whose fur she was washing, as the noise level rose to something of a feverish crescendo and she had to hum loudly in order to keep the customers from pulling appalled faces at the ceiling.

"Don't you just love this song?" She gushed. "Cliff Richard is such a dreamboat. If I _wasn't_ a cat..."

_I don't know how much longer I can keep this up,_ she thought, sincerely hoping they would finish soon...

* * *

"You didn't think I could do gentle, did you?"

The Somali purred in his ear. "Was it enough?"

Munkustrap let out a pained sigh. "Oui…"

"What?"

His eyes opened a tad. "What?"

She sat up. "Unless I'm going deaf, I'm quite sure you just said, 'Oui.' Turning French now, are we?"

"No no…" He closed his eyes, feeling foolish. "The queens I rescued last night. One of them was French."

One of her claws tapped the end of his nose. "And she's gotten to you."

"Don't be ridiculous! No one gets to me."

She snorted. "I see that look in your eye, don't you deny it!"

Rising off his lap, she knelt behind him and began to massage his shoulders almost as roughly as she'd just nailed him.

There was no point in trying to deny it. Once Bombi had made up her mind about something, there was no changing it.

"Does that hurt, Handsome?"

"Kind of, yes- ow-!" At least he knew where all his bruises were now.

"That was purely accidental. I promise. Cat everlasting! How did you even get these?"

He muttered. "Don't ask."

There was a slight pause and then she changed the subject. "So, this new queen. She is to be the new doctor, I take it?"

He nodded slightly, feigning ignorance, but knowing full well what was hiding behind that brief pause. "She has much talent for one so young."

Bombi raised an eyebrow. "Young, eh?"

"She is fairly."

A sudden flash of worry was masked by her curiosity, but only barely. "How young are we talking? Your Vicky's age?"

He gave a shrug. "A little older, I'd say. You know I'm very bad at guessing these things."

"She's pretty." It was a statement, not a question.

"Depends what you like."

"Don't mess about, Munk! Seriously, I meant do YOU think she's pretty?"

He smirked. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Bombi." Although, he was getting quite a lot of satisfaction from seeing her squirm.

"Who says I'm jealous?" She replied sulkily. "If she thinks she can rival me then she's got another thing coming-!"

"She hasn't come here to rival you, or anyone else. I don't know where you're getting that idea."

"I have many ideas," she suddenly purred, running a paw across his chest. "Want to play them out?"

He got up before the idea of a second round started to sound like a good one. The bed was soft and her touches were habit forming. "I'd love to, dear, but I have to get back." He realised his error. He had to get out of the habit of calling her that.

She pouted. "To your _French_ queen?"

"Her and her friends are still in my den asleep."

"Wait? She's got her FRIENDS with you?"

"It's not how you think! Look, I really have to go."

"Not like that you don't!"

He frowned. "Not like what?"

She laughed. "Munk, you stink! Get back in the shower!"

Now he was really confused. "I just had one!"

"Eau De Bombi is your fragrance, is it? I think not. Trust me, you don't want to go back there smelling of me. It'll give the wrong impression."

He grunted something and pulled open the door. She was only trying to get him to stay.

"Munk, wait! I forgot to ask!"

"Yes, Bombi?"

"Did you get to speak with Demi?"

From his grim expression, she suspected it wasn't going to be good news.

"No."

"Why not?"

"Didn't turn up."

She looked at him in disbelief. "You're kidding! I wondered why you were so early!"

When he didn't reply, her expression slowly matched his. "Sooo, what does this mean for us?"

"There is no 'us.'"

"But, can't you-?"

"No-"

"For the sake of-?!"

"It's over, Bombi," he said, a tightness in his voice that told her every word was weighing heavily on him. "She made her choice. I'd say four months was pretty final."

"But I sat down and _talked_ to her!" She whined. "I _convinced_ her to-!"

"We cannot get back together," he stated with blunt finality. "I was a fool to even consider it."

She gave a howl of frustration. "Why does _everything_ have to be so finalised with you!? There's nothing to say that WE can't still see each other!"

"And go behind your cousin's back? I'm sure she'd appreciate that."

A beguiling gleam swiftly entered her eye. "That wasn't exactly a no."

He ran a paw through his already messed up head fur and sighed. It was so tempting just to disregard all the fights… all the hurt. "You know we'd kill each other if it was just us two," he said, regret in every syllable. "It's not like we didn't try. You know how I feel about you, but I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

As soon as he disappeared, Bombalurina's face crumpled. She wouldn't cry. She'd just lost the best thing that had ever happened to her. Again. And it was all of her own doing. Uttering a growl, she threw an item of clothing at the closed door, hitting her assistant in the face as she poked her head around it.

"Shall I send in your next client?" The Abyssinian asked, a little too brightly, unhooking the suspender belt from her ears.

Bombi sighed. "Who is it?"

"It's Mr Pouncival, ma'am."

Bombi plastered on her best smile. "Of course, Iphy. Send him up."


	7. The Dream

It's cold. She is lying on a hard floor. All is dark. She looks down at her belly; it's swollen with kittens. But something is wrong. There is a terrible pain and she realises there's a hole in it. It's so big that they keep falling out. "Don't fall out!" she pleads. _"He'll_ get you!"

But they don't listen. One by one, they tumble out, and as soon as they hit the floor, they crumple up and die. "Theos! Help!" She cries, desperately trying to stuff them back inside, but it's no use.

They keep slipping from her grasp and now there is only one left. He looks like Theos, with his snow white fur and creamy Sokoke swirls. His eyes are closed but somehow, she knows that they are a beautiful pale blue.

She holds him in her arms, but he is so heavy. Someone is pulling him. She tries to hold on, but they have him. She tries to chase them, but the door shuts on her.

"KAYAN!"

She howls and hammers on the wood. She tries to tear it open, almost tears out her own claws and screams until her voice is hoarse. She doesn't know how long she spent hammering and crying, but the door remains shut and she knows she will never see him again.

In the distance, she hears a cruel laugh and finds herself shivering on the floor. She curls up into a ball and wishes to die. Dying feels good. It is warm. It feels like floating…

* * *

"Jazzie! Stop kneading me!" Hortenseya hissed.

"Wha…?"

Groggy with sleep, the snowshoe clumsily withdrew her claws from her friend's back and turned over, hugging herself into the pillow...

Wait. Pillow?!

Her eyes snapped open. What was she doing here?

Groping blindly, her fingers alighted upon lambswool softness, and she smiled slightly. However they may have done it, the mysterious eudemon had even taken the time to cover her with a blanket, but in such a perfunctory way as to make it look like an afterthought.

Yawning and stretching, she quietly untangled herself from her still snoring friends and gingerly tested her foot, half expecting to feel discomfort, but was relieved to find that there was none. Perhaps, whatever the tom had done had healed her foot also? "Or it might have been the NSAIDS that Jelly gave me," she considered, knowing it could well have simply healed by itself.

Moonlight was beaming through the window, infusing the room with a silvery glow... but there was no sign of the enigma himself, leaving her with a quandary: how long had she been asleep? Could it have been a day, or even... days? Disoriented, she felt stiff, and more than a little hungry.

Her friends showed no sign of waking up, so, with nothing else to do, and after removing the bandage, she nosed about for a bit, wondering when her rescuer would return, or if he ever would.

Apart from two walnut bookcases filled with dusty volumes and vinyl records, there was also a solid teak writing desk, upon which sat a typewriter and a wind up turntable, and hanging on the wall above these, was a collection of small portraits.

She stole a glance at the pill cabinet, but, thinking it would be rude to look inside without the owner's permission, she bypassed it and went to stare at the stern faces on the wall instead. She read off the names on the plaques, wondering who they were, sensing that they were important, for no ordinary cat got to have a portrait of themselves put up, unless a loving human owner desired it. Looking at the large, shaggy Maine coon at the top, she gathered that he was the most important of all. There was certainly something supernal about his kind, old face... something venerable and wise that went beyond his apparent age. "Old Deuteronomy," she read, noticing he bore a vague resemblance to her rescuer, and indeed, some of the other cats on the wall.

However, try as she might, she couldn't stop thinking about the cabinet.

Quickly checking that no one was watching, she casually snuck back over, opened up the door and peeked inside. Firstly, she picked up the obsidian vessel, turning it over in her paw, searching for an inscription or label. But all she found was a small etching near the base in the shape of a fancy capital 'Y' with a magician's cane as the stem and a backwards 's' shaped tail for the arm. She pursed her lips, flipped off the cork and shook a pill out onto her palm. Like she'd noticed the night before, it was oval-shaped and coated in glossy black shellac, not uniform like ones made in a factory. She gave it a sniff. "Hmm…" She could detect a few chemicals that she recognised, but a few she didn't. She then noticed another jar, so put the pill and the bottle back and grabbed that one instead.

This pot was made of clear orange plastic, with a white plastic cap. Definitely factory-made. Definitely familiar. "Lithium?" she pondered. "What could he possibly want with that?"

He certainly didn't LOOK as though he were suffering from any kind of mental illness... but then, these things were rarely ostensibly apparent.

Feeling a slight draft, she quickly stuffed the pill bottles back in the cupboard, noticing that the door was ajar. Tiptoeing towards it, she stepped out onto a wooden veranda, taking in the grimey London air.

From where she was, she could look down upon the warehouses and the piles of scrap, the outer walls of the yard and everything that was beyond. Being early in the evening, there wasn't much happening, apart from a few cars cruising up and down, and an elderly gentleman whistling as he walked his dog along the towpath.

Then, something moved out of the corner of her eye and her head snapped towards a large clearing. A place where the scrap had been piled high, encircling a smooth, concrete floor like stands surrounding an amphitheatre. However, whatever had been there, seemed to have disappeared. "Perhaps it was a mouse?" She mused. "Or a piece of rubbish?" Ah… but if it _was_ a mouse… "I could try to catch it, and then I could give it to him as a thank you." She smiled at her idea, feeling a combination of nerves and excitement at the prospect of being able to hunt.

Searching for a way down, she saw there was a lift, so tentatively stepped onto it, and with a gentle squeak, it immediately started to lower, descending at a steady pace, right to the ground.

Treading silently on her soft paws, she wound her way through the yard, slinking through shadows and squeezing between gaps, her whiskers quivering at the myriad of smells and unfamiliar scents. She was in no doubt that this place was occupied by a great many, because that was what her nose was telling her. But, where were they?

As she approached the clearing, one particularly strong scent drew her towards an old grandfather clock, which looked as though it had long ceased chiming, and had clearly not stood completely upright for at least the same amount of time. Leaning in amongst the odds and ends, it more closely resembled a fun slide. And, judging by its polished surface, it had clearly seen its fair share of bottoms too. But she also noticed something else.

Scored into the underside were ten, jagged claw marks. Stretching up, she traced her fingers over the splintered rents, marvelling at how they dwarfed her delicate digits, but also shivered at the thought of being the unlucky blackguard to bump into the perpetrator, wherever he was.

She was so enthralled that she didn't notice many eyes watching her.

* * *

Before leaving the yard, Munkustrap had had words with Alonzo.

For his part in almost rendering the rescue mission a complete disaster, his son had been grounded for a week; but that didn't mean he got out of doing work- oh no! He had been given what was probably the most fun job of all: Sentry duty. It was great! You got to stand on the highest point of the yard for hours on end, enduring all weathers, be it wind, rain, hail storm, snow or blistering sunshine; and about 99.9% of the time, nothing remotely interesting happened. And so, spying on Jazzie came as a welcome relief.

The Angora waved his black tail whilst keeping his odd coloured eyes trained upon her, signalling to the other sentries not to attack, for she was clearly about as harmless as a butterfly. He would very much have liked to have gone down and talked to her, and maybe even shown her around, but of course, that was strictly against the rules. "Damn and botheration!" he thought to himself. "And damn my father for being such a disciplinarian!"

It wasn't HIS fault he'd started that fight, or that the guard had called him names! Kettle Head indeed! Well, he'd shown HIM, and had lived up to his new nickname too! Hell, his father went by so many names that not even he knew them all. However, rumours went around that there were a few names he no longer went by, or at least, rarely used. Snorrescha was one of those. Why, he had no idea.

He suddenly waved his tail again and pointed. "Going to see if she's ok," he signalled. "Someone cover my post for me?"

In response, Admetus began waving frantically. "Are you out of your mind!? Munkustrap will kill you!"

Alonzo casually waved back. "Ah… whatever." His father would kill him if anything happened to the new queen, so what did he have to lose?

* * *

Hearing a sudden noise, Jazzie flattened her ears and hunkered down into the shadows, listening.

There it was again! Soft foot falls of someone not bothering to keep quiet. Feeling panicked, and suddenly very much longing for the safety of the den, she slowly backed away.

"Hey."

She squeaked and spun around! But relaxed when she saw who it was. "Oh." She let out a breath. "It's you. You scared me!"

"I didn't mean to, princess," Alonzo said, grinning. "Here." He held out his paw for her to shake. "I do not believe I introduced myself properly."

Jazzie nodded politely as she shook his paw. "You are Alonzo, Munkustrap's son. I'm sure I heard that right?"

He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Yeah, he's my dad."

"I find that quite surprising," she continued. "There doesn't seem to be much of an age gap between you both."

He smirked. "Yeah well, that's because he was quite young when he and my mum started, you know... messing about. I'm like the oldest, so…"

"Of how many?"

He had to think about that one. "Gosh, I'm not sure. I think it's about nineteen or something... maybe twenty… I dunno." He quickly added, "Half siblings. My actual litter mates are dead..."

"Oh my!" said Jazzie, looking sad. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I don't remember them." They both stood looking awkward, not knowing quite what to say. "Anyway," said Alonzo, as a way of trying to move the conversation onwards, "What are you up to? You settled in and that?"

Jazzie nodded. "Yes. I thought I saw a mouse, so I thought I'd try and catch it. You know, as a thank you to your father. He has been very kind."

But to her surprise, Alonzo shook his head and tutted. "You know you shouldn't be wandering around on your own. There are many dangers. What you need is someone strong, and... _brave_ to show you around."

She looked a little shamefaced. "Oh. Do you think Munkustrap will be angry with me? I would have asked, only he wasn't there-"

Alonzo shifted uncomfortably. "Well… actually, I was thinking more like me, but… you know…"

"You know your way around this place?"

"Oh _sure,_ I've been here all my life," he bragged. "I can show you where all the best mousing places are, if you like?"

Jazzie looked uncertain. "That would be very kind, but… my friends might be wondering where I am and I don't want to get into trouble-"

"Ah, old Stoneface is probably not even back yet," Alonzo reassured her. "Tell you what, I'll show you the mouse place, and then I'll take you back to his den. He'll be really pleased if you show up with breakfast." And maybe he'll let me off, he thought.

* * *

Munkustrap returned to the den and found that the queens were just waking up. However, it didn't take him long to realise that one of them was missing. "Where's your friend?" He asked them.

"Jazzie?" Hortenseya yawned. "Oh… she was just digging her claws into me a few minutes ago..." She glanced about, suddenly awake. "Is she not with you?"

Rather than answer, Munkustrap sniffed the air. His eyes darted first to the pill cabinet, then to the door. "Follow me," he said, quickly heading back out.

Looking worried, the queens hurried after him, Lucitana about to start calling, but Munkustrap held up a paw to silence her and looked over at one of the sentries. A series of ear swivels and tail flicks were passed to and fro, and the queens guessed they were exchanging some sort of silent language and had no idea what was being said. But finally, he nodded briskly and turned to them. "Come." was all he said.

"Why? Where is she?" Asked Norstara.

He inclined his head towards the fields of junk. "Down there."

* * *

Meanwhile, in a secluded part of the yard, Jazzie was having so much fun that she forgot about where she was meant to be.

"Look! There!" She whispered to her new friend. "I see one!

"Where?" Alonzo looked at the place she was gesturing to, but couldn't see the darting shadow.

"There!" She pointed impatiently, and as though knowing it had been spotted, the mouse suddenly froze, right near a metal pipe.

Alonzo grinned. "I'll get it first!"

"No, I will!"

They both pounced at the same time and accidentally collided, ending up in a rolling, giggling heap on the floor. "Did we get the mouse?" She laughed when they eventually came to a stop.

He looked up, seeing the mouse dive into a hole in the wall, and shook his head, his blue and green eyes staring into hers. "No, I don't think we did."

Gradually, she stopped laughing, realising how close he was. "Well… that was fun anyway," she said, trying to shift away from him. "Um… shall we try again?"

"Actually, I think we should..." His face suddenly came in close and she had to crane her head to stop his whiskers from tickling; but still, he moved in closer-

"Ahem!"

A stern voice startled them both and they were immediately on their feet, to see Munkustrap standing there with his arms folded.

"S-Sir...!" She tried to stammer, smoothing down her fur. "We were just… it's not what…"

He ignored her. "Alonzo," he said, turning to his son, his voice that same deadly calm he'd used before. "You are grounded for the foreseeable future."

The young tom tried to argue. "But I wasn't-! I was just-!"

"You're not too big that I can't still put you on your arse!" The larger tom suddenly hissed. "Now get back to your post!"

Alonzo may have been a bold young adult a little older than Jazzie, but he knew better than to argue with his father. He'd only be laying himself out for further punishment. "Laters, Jazz," he said forlornly, and skulked back to his spot on the warehouse roof, ignoring the other quietly guffawing sentries. However, he couldn't help but flash a steely glare towards Admetus, who merely eyed him back and mouthed, "I told you so!"

"Jazzie." Munkustrap said, finally turning to her with a stare that put the hairs up on the back of her neck. "You will come with me."


	8. The Infirmary

In the early hours of the morning, Jazzie jolted awake. At first, she wondered where she was, but then remembered. She was free!

Smiling to herself, she lifted her head and glanced over at the dozing Bengcoon. "Mon Dieu!" she thought. "C'est un rêve?" *1

She had to suppress a giggle, for he'd fallen asleep mid-strum, still holding onto the guitar with his head resting against the wall. However, although asleep, Jazzie could see that his ears definitely weren't, for every so often they would twitch in response to a sudden noise, like the sound of rain dripping onto the roof, or a tin can rattling in the breeze somewhere outside. "Il est magnifique!" whispered the voice in her head, but she quickly rounded on it! "Jazzie! Ne sois pas fou! Ne perd pas la tête à cause d'un chat tom-!" *2

She quickly stifled the jabbering voices as he began to stir…

"Merde!" Had he noticed her staring?*3

Shutting her eyes, she snuggled into Hortenseya and tried to go back to sleep, vaguely wondering what it might be like to have him snuggling up with her instead…

"Jazzie! Stop kneading me!" Hortenseya whispered crossly.

Jazzie retracted her claws. "Sorry…!"

* * *

Munkustrap kept his eyes closed and waited until Jazzie had drifted off back to sleep, listening out for the telltale signs of even breathing and soft snores, then quietly groaned and messaged his neck. Hours had passed since his stripclub brawl, but already his body was aching, with no part being more painful than his poor ribs, which had borne the brunt of the beatings. And while he could sleep pretty much anywhere (being a cat and all) he had to concede that the wall wasn't exactly the most comfortable of places either, so with another quiet groan, he arose from his seated position and carefully placed the guitar on a shelf. Next, he moved silently to his trunk and removed a black velvet pouch from it, along with a white cotton rug, then closed and locked it again.

He had a quick drink from the tap, not bothering to use a cup, and was about to head outside with the rug under one arm and the black pouch held loosely in his paw, when he turned back to look at the slumbering queens.

They were huddled together, in the way that cats often are when a bond between them is strong, and although they were all breathtakingly beautiful, there was something about that Snowshoe that puzzled him. He stared at her, cocking his head to the side and frowning at what that something could be… then gave up trying to figure her out and tiptoed out of the door.

Stepping and sliding down to the clearing, he deftly unfurled the cotton rug and lay it on the ground, facing East. Then, he stood on the end of it, and lifted his face to the sky.

The first wisps of sunlight were lighting up the billowing clouds, sending crystal shafts shooting down to Earth, while a ripped paper bag danced in a soft breeze that was both dusty and cool. Taking a deep breath of this heavily polluted, London air, he touched his paws to his forehead and uttered a small prayer, then raising them up to greet the morning Sun…

* * *

When Jazzie awoke again, sunlight was pouring into the den. The guitar had been neatly put away, but there was no sign of Munkustrap.

Yawning and stretching, she quietly untangled herself from her still snoring sisters and gingerly tested her foot. It was still rather tender, but the throbbing pain had at least died down enough for her to be able to put a little more weight on it, and thus, enable her to creep to the entrance in order to breathe in the same, sooty air that Munkustrap had found so invigorating!

She looked around and eventually spotted the Bengcoon standing in the open, with a large, oblong box at his feet. Slipping behind a heavily rusted and windowless door, that had once belonged to an Austin Metro, she watched him as he removed the plywood cover, to reveal another solid sheet of plywood… one which had over three hundred nails sticking out of it.

Before she could wonder what he was planning to do with such a ghastly object, he bent down and placed his paws directly on the sharp points.

She put a paw to her mouth, thinking how painfully the nails must have been digging into his skin!

But rather than shy away, he pressed down into them, shifting his weight forwards until his feet hovered off the ground. Up... up they went, until they finally met in mid air... and then, while still in the handstand, he began to perform a series of press ups, lowering his chin down so it almost touched the spikes, then thrusting upwards again, and so on and so forth.

After about thirty, she thought he must have been in need of a rest, but instead, his legs lowered to a straddle. One paw raised up and he was balancing on the other. Then he switched arms... and she could tell he was beginning to tire from the way his chest heaved... and by the way he wobbled just slightly...

She realised she was holding her breath!

She let it out slowly, and watched as he folded his legs into lotus pose and lowered himself down, finally taking a seat… (she cringed!)... on the nails themselves, and decided that now would be a good time to approach and ask him what the Hell he was doing!

But as she drew near, she noticed he had something wrapped around his paw... a string of dark coloured beads that he was rolling between his fingers, one after the other, as though counting them. His eyes were closed and he was whispering in a language that she did not understand. "...Om bhur bhuvas svaha, thath savithur varaynyam, bhargo dheyvasya dhimahih, dhyoyonah pratchodhay-yath..."**

_**We worship the word that is present in the earth, the heavens, and that which is beyond. By meditating on this glorious power that gives us life, we ask that our minds and hearts be illuminated._

His paws came to prayer against his forehead. Then he lowered them and opened his eyes. "How long have you been spying on me for?" He asked quietly.

"Oh…! Errr… I was not spying ..." Jazzie lied, but her curling tail gave away her embarrassment! She promptly grabbed the traitorous appendage and said loftily, "I was merely interested to know what you were doing, that was all!" She gestured to the bed of nails. "That looks rather… um…"

"Uncomfortable?"

"I was going to say dangerous."

He chuckled. "It IS if I don't watch how I get off it..." Placing his paws down, he lightly vaulted off the nails, then popped the cover back on the sharp implements and offered her a seat.

"So, what WERE you doing?" She asked, as she tentatively perched herself on the bed of nails- that had now been made safe.

"My practice," he replied, passing the beads from one paw to another... "Part of a routine that I perform every day... it is mandatory, in fact." He grew thoughtful, trying to justify his reasons for practicing such an arduous workout every day. He didn't need a reason, he just got on and did it! For him, it was as habitual as eating, breathing and washing one's fur… "It helps me to feel… normal, I suppose. Much needed in the midst of this chaos they call life. How's the foot, by the way?"

"Much better, thank you. Um… what's that for?"

"You mean this?" He held up the strange necklace.

She nodded.

"Mala Beads..." He passed them to her so she could have a better look. "...handed down to me from my predecessor. Each one represents a mantra or prayer, which I basically recite to help bring my mind to a single point of focus. I'm still working on the single point of focus part, though!"

The necklace was a little weightier than Jazzie had expected. She gazed at the dark blue stones, feeling how beautifully smooth they were, just begging to be rolled between the fingers. Then she got to the final bead, which differed from the rest in that, rather than being small and spherical, it was a silver pendant, cast in the form of an intricate tree.

"That's the guru bead," he explained. "It's in the shape of the Banyan Tree, which represents immortality."

"It's beautiful," she said. "How long have you been practicing for?"

"A number of years. It's taught me a lot about myself, where my strengths lie, where my weaknesses are... and of course, helps me to get to a place of peace, which is something I believe most of us are seeking, often without realising it."

She smirked. "And you have to do a handstand on a bed of nails to find that?"

"It's honestly not as bad as it looks," he replied, smiling. "It actually feels quite pleasant once you get used to it. You should give it a try."

She shrugged. "Maybe. If you'll you teach me?"

"In due course, it would be my pleasure..." He stood up and retrieved the beads... "But right now, it's breakfast time!"

* * *

After waking the 'Three Muses', the group made their way passed Lord's Cricket Ground to a place that, Munkustrap assured them, served good food and was reasonably priced too.

Situated on the corner of Park Road, Exotica's Cafe a pretty nondescript place. A red awning sheltered an outside area, which housed closely packed wooden chairs and round tables. A few cats were already seated, eating, chatting and drinking tea or valerian root coffee (which was specifically suited to their delicate, feline digestive systems). And as soon as the food arrived, the four starving queens fell on it!

"Slow down, ladies!" Munkustrap softly scolded, but still with a smile, as he began to tuck into his own breakfast of grilled bacon and scrambled eggs. "I take it Macavity didn't feed you?"

"Dried bread and the odd mouse if we were lucky," replied Hortenseya through a mouthful of eggs benedict.

"Sometimes we had to supplement our diet with spiders... or snails..." Norstara recalled with a shudder- then went back to demolishing her crab omelette.

"And if we didn't make enough money, then we didn't get anything," Lucitana added, before cramming a whole smoked salmon and soft cheese bagel into her mouth.

Munkustrap seemed to have lost his appetite all of a sudden.

"Luc!" Jazzie hissed. "Where are your manners?!"

"Wha...? I uhuuhuhuhuhfffufff!" The Abyssinian retorted.

Jazzie rolled her eyes at Munkustrap. "Sorry! I honestly cannot take her anywhere!"

And rather than gobble down her own food, she daintily picked at her kipper kedgeree, not wanting to get the pungent fish on her white paws… but it was then that she noticed how grubby they were. In fact, they were all looking a little disheveled.

As though reading her thoughts, Munkustrap announced, "I shall take you all to visit our infirmary today, but before I do that, I'm afraid we'll have to get ourselves cleaned up, as there's no way Jennyanydots will let us anywhere near the infirmary in this state. No offense-"

"OI! MUNKUS!"

The queens all turned in their seats to see who had shouted, and saw a small group of toms striding confidently towards them.

"Wow! Who's the guy with the insane mane?" asked Lucitana, raising an intrigued eyebrow at the unusual-looking tom at the helm.

"My brother..." Munkustrap muttered, without bothering to look up as the large male made his way over to them, thumbs hooked in a loosely worn, studded leather belt and, for some reason, also had a scarf tied around his left leg, much like a garter. And his whole demeanour, from his devil may care swagger to his flashy grin, reminded Jazzie of someone she'd seen on television… a rockstar whose name escaped her. She was sure it ended in Jagger... or was it Mick...?

Meanwhile, the group of five young toms took seats at a table nearby, but _this _tom plonked himself right down next to her!

"Sooo? Bro?" He said, his voice smooth like polished mahogany, "YOU were pulling chicks... and you didn't introduce ME? You know pulling chicks is my job, right?" Exuding more suaveness than Han Solo, he waved a leather-gloved paw towards Munkustrap. "Tell you what, why don't you tootle off and do your patrolling, or whatever it is you do... and I'll take this from here. We'll be just fine, won't we, my angel…? Myyy my…" He looked her up and down. "I can see why Old Stiff Britches wanted to keep you all to himself... what's your name, precious?"

Jazzie bared her teeth. "My NAME is Doctor Jazzie! I think you are very rude barging in like this, AND you are TOO CLOSE!"

"Oh, don't flatter me!" He laughed, without taking his golden eyes off of her. "The name's Rum Tum Tugger. Or, should I say, THE Rum Tum Tugger." He took her paw and bowed. "But _you, _my heavenly dacquoise, can call me Tugger. I'm cool with that- just YOU though..."

He suddenly spied Lucitana, Hortenseya and Norstara staring at him, "Oh!" He did an exaggerated double take! "_And_ you, and _you_ _AND_ you…!"

"Not you," he said to Munkustrap, who returned a withering look...

"That's fine. I already have a name for you..." He coughed something that sounded a bit like, "Asshole!"

Tugger grinned, "Got a frog in your throat there, Bro?"

"More like an incinerated badger in a fur coat…!"

Tugger ignored him and turned back to Jazzie, since she was far more interesting than his grouch of a brother. "So? You and me, Mademoiselle Beart. How about it?" He leaned in to kiss her, with the full confidence that she would be unable to resist his magnetic charms, and that her standoffishness was simply her way of playing hard to get. However, he was quite surprised when all he got was a swift bat to the face!

"Get away from me!" she hissed. "I would not go with you if you were the last tom on_EARTH!" _

"Oooohohooo!" He chortled. "I LOVE it when they get feisty-!"

"Brother, dearest… would you kindly stop harassing my guests before you end up scaring them?" Munkustrap was examining his claws with a bored expression on his face… having seen all this far too many times before. "These are the queens we rescued last night..." His expression hardened and he flashed his eyes at Tugger. "Which reminds me... where WERE you last night?"

"I was busy-"

"You were in the pub-"

"I was busy in the pub!"

"We could have done with your support, Tugger! But, you let me down... as per usual! Now, if you'll excuse us..."

Looking as though he'd just tasted something bad, he got up to leave... and the queens couldn't join him fast enough!

However, not getting the hint... that he was about as welcome as a bad smell... Tugger held up his paws and carried on, "Look! I would have _loved _to have been there, Bro! I'm sure I missed a great party… but, unfortunately, I had important shit of my own to sort out-"

Munkustrap turned back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Did it involve females by any chance?"

"Yeah it did, as it happens!" Tugger replied. "How did you-?" His expression suddenly changed. "Oh, wait! Dude! What _died?" _He sniffed the air, wrinkling his nose. "Are you aware that you smell like a drain? How, in Bast's name, are you managing to steal my queens!? Oh-!" He caught a whiff of Lucitana. _ "That's _how!" He held his nose. "Peeeooh! Bollicles of a slommer must stingk dogether, I smose!"

Munkustrap grumbled, "We were on our way to-!"

"The bath! Yeah, too right you are!"

"Don't be ridiculous, we don't smell that bad!" Munkustrap gave his arm a quick sniff in order to back up his argument... then immediately wished he hadn't! "Ooh… actually, you might be right. That club was rank and I ended up being smashed across most of it..."

"You got in a fight?!" Tugger asked suddenly.

"No," his brother deadpanned. "I skipped into Dirty Harry's, performed a merry dance and then skipped back out again. That's how I got _ this…!" _He pointed to the cut on his forehead, and Tugger raised an eyebrow.

"You ran into Mackers?"

Munkustrap rolled his eyes again. "Obviously I didn't, otherwise I would still be in that shithole... perhaps existing as a rather decorative rug."

While Jazzie shuddered at that thought, he shook his head... "Honestly... the things I do..."

* * *

In a small corner of the Scrap yard, away from the roaring machinery and swearing workmen, stood an old tin bath.

Rum Tum Tugger filled it with water, using a hose pipe attached to an outside tap and more bubble bath than was deemed necessary, so that the foamy suds spilled out over the sides! Seemingly impressed with his handiwork, Jazzie guessed that this was something he did regularly.

"Ladies first!" He announced.

Shooting him suspicious glances, the queens approached the bathtub, which was more like a small swimming pool to them. Somewhat apprehensive, they dipped their toes in... "It's_freezing! _" Lucitana complained.

"Oh, just get in!" Hortenseya snapped, giving her a firm shove, so that she fell in!

"Arrgh!" She cried, splashing and spluttering... "You bitch, Tensey-!"

"Right! Just wash yourselves and get out," Munkustrap said briskly, handing them a bottle of Purrcy's flea shampoo. "I haven't got all day…!"

They all stared at him... dripping wet and shivering.

He stared back. "What?"

Jazzie made a desperate signal with her eyes, and he seemed to understand.

"Oooh…" He looked a little abashed. "I see..." He turned his back on them...

"I won't look," he promised, then shot his brother a sideways glare... "That includes you, Tugger."

The Charcoal Bengcoon dutifully turned around… but not before giving Munkustrap a furtive wink!

"You'd better not!" Norstara warned them, as she and her fellow queens began to scrub themselves, using the shampoo and a piece of sponge that had seen better days...

"I won't." Munkustrap gave a disinterested yawn... then glared at his brother again… "TUGGER!"

Tugger whipped his head back round, his face the picture of unimpeachable repute!_"What...?" _

"Ahem!" Said a small voice. "C-Could we ha-have a t-t-towel... m-maybe?"

"Right here, babes...!" Tugger was about to hand over a moth-eaten towel, when the queens all screeched in unison:

"NO PEEKING!"

When the queens were all out, Munkustrap stepped up to the bath. Not minding the cold in the slightest, he waded in and put his head under the water before he could think too much about it, and resurfaced just in time to see someone jump in beside him... "Tugger... what are you doing?"

His brother gave him a hurt look. "Can't a guy have a bath with his bro just like old times? What's the world coming to?"

Munkustrap sighed, for what had to be the one hundredth time... "Fine! Just stick to your side... okay!?"

"Okay! Geesh!"

Rinsing off the soap and grime, Munkustrap was about to get out, when he happened to glance up… to find Tugger about to squeeze something out of a plastic bottle over his head... _"Now _what are you doing?"

"Conditioner?" Came the innocent reply.

"You do realise that's for queens?" The tom batted the offensive item away. "I can feel my masculinity departing just looking at it."

Tugger laughed, "Suit yourself bro!" and proceeded to comb the opaque gel through his fur using his claws. Then, using a chipped Willow Pattern vase, he tipped a large quantity of water over his head, accidentally getting most of it over Munkustrap! "Uh oh…!"

* * *

Finally, everyone was clean and busily drying themselves off.

"Tugger? Can I borrow that comb after you?" asked Jazzie.

"Of course, my little chasseur. Allow me..." And before she had a chance to argue, he began to expertly work his way through her fur, using his fake tortoiseshell comb to tease out the knots and smooth bits into place...

"Et voila, Mademoiselle!" He announced when he'd finished. "You look…!" He stared at her, open mouthed... but no other words appeared from within…

Munkustrap chuckled and gave her a pat on the shoulder. "I believe that's the first time my brother has ever been rendered speechless… I really must congratulate you, my dear."

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Tugger cooly clicked his neck to the side and set to work on the other queens. When finished, he stepped back to admire them, much like a car enthusiast admiring his latest model… "Like Artemis and her Nymphs," he said proudly, then on a sour note, "And Munkustrap."

Munkustrap laughed, "And who are you? Actaeon?"

The queens tittered. Tugger, however, did not. "Yeah, well! You didn't have to duck me under like that bro!" he huffed.

"Oh, I think I did," Munkustrap replied with a sly grin. "That was the most fun I've had all day!"

"He's right, Tugger!" Hortenseya giggled. "It was rather funny!"

In response, Tugger moodily fluffed his mane and offered the comb to Munkustrap.

The silver Bengcoon stared at it. "And what do you want me to do with that?"

He could think of the many things he'd like to do with it... that had nothing whatsoever to do with its intended purpose… "I could feed it to you, if you'd like?"

It was Tugger's turn to look exasperated. "Dude, you look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards... or was that the look you were going for?"

Munkustrap shrugged. "I wasn't going for any sort of look."

"He does have a point, Munkustrap," Jazzie piped up, looking at a matted patch on his shoulder. "This bit is all sticking up. Here..." she snatched the comb from Tugger, "I'll do it- no arguments!" And began to drag the comb through the disgruntled tom's fur…

All the while, she took the opportunity to admire it... the contrast of silver with glossy black that made her eyes go a bit funny, and to touch and be near him felt like she'd been hooked up to the mains, causing her skin to prickle with goosebumps.

He knew nothing of this. At least, if he did, he didn't show it. He simply rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Farewell masculinity... it was nice knowing you..."

Suddenly, he froze!

Jazzie's eyes widened.

Fur spiked and tails lashed, and everyone was instantly on edge!

All except... Rum Tum Tugger. The tom who was busily smearing his fur with cologne and seemed blissfully unaware of the sudden change in atmosphere.

"What is it?" Jazzie asked fearfully.

"I thought I smelled something!" Munkustrap whispered.

He sniffed the air, desperately trying to catch a second whiff of that fleeting scent... only for it to be drowned out by Tugger's cologne! "Tugger? Why do you have to wear that stuff? It smells revolting!"

"It gives me an air of sophistication!" His brother replied loftily. "Something _you'd _know nothing about."

Munkustrap ignored the remark and turned to the queens. "Come on," he said gruffly. "It's time we moved on." He looked at his brother. "Tugger? When you've quite finished preening yourself, please lead the way."

Heeding his words, the group followed Rum Tum Tugger into the relative safety of the junk piles. However, before joining them, Munkustrap took one last look back, his eyes darting suspiciously from one heap of junk to another, his ears rotating this way and that... but could see nothing, nor hear anything suspicious over the hum of machinery and the clash of sliding metal…

There was definitely something sinister close by though! He could _feel _it in his bones! Suppressing a shiver, he dashed off to join the others.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, a pair of amber eyes watched... hated, narrowed with murderous rage… while the owner of them flashed its jagged teeth and uttered a deep, reverberating growl! Then it vanished... leaving behind no trace of its presence other than eight, long scratch marks, scored into the side of an old chest freezer.

* * *

Having gotten rid of Tugger (he'd said something about going back to the cafe because he was 'famished') the group arrived at the entrance to the Infirmary, looking neat and tidy.

There to greet them was a heavily pregnant Angora matriarch. "Hellooo my dears!" she squealed breathlessly. _"So _nice of you to come _. _My name is Jennyanydots... Gumby Cat, resident nurse, midwife, nose wiper... or whatever else you wish to call me!"

Looking to be well into her senior years, the queen had a coat of silky white, patterned with ginger, grey and black torbie markings. She was also wearing a pair of pristine white gloves and an apron that did little to disguise her beach ball of a belly!

"Bonjour, Madame. It is a pleasure to meet you," said Jazzie, greeting her with a faire la bise, "I have heard so much about your work!"

"Et j'ai beaucoup entendu parler de vous, mon cher Jazzie!" Jennyanydots replied merrily. *4

Jazzie gave a delighted gasp. "Tu parle français?"*5

"Oh oui, bien sûr! C'est le langage de l'amour! Une belle langue."*6

Jazzie was clearly impressed. "Et tu le parles magnifiquement," she said.*7

Jenny dipped her head. "Merci beaucoup. Je l'enseigne aussi, vous savez!"*8

The two began to chatter away in French, quite forgetting that the others were standing right behind them and couldn't understand a word, although Munkustrap strongly suspected that he may have been part of the subject matter, by the way both queens flashed periodic glances at him- one knowing and the other somewhat shy. The conversation had clearly moved onto Jenny's pregnancy (something that could not be overlooked), with Jazzie asking, "Quand les chatons vont-ils naître?"*9

Jenny rested a paw on her gravid midsection and explained that she had to endure, "Un autre mois d'enfer, grâce à Munkustrap…" She gave the tom a sideways look and added, "Et ma soeur est dans le même bateau." *10

Munkustrap glanced at Hortenseya, Lucitana and Norstara. All three shrugged, clearly none the wiser, so he cleared his throat loudly and spoke up, "Much as I'd love to stand here listening to you both warble on, some of us have work to…!"

"Oh, zip it, Munkustrap!" Jenny snapped playfully. "If you'd listened in my French lessons, then perhaps you'd understand what we're saying about you!" She tutted and turned to Jazzie. "I must apologise. I do tend to rabble on a bit… once I get going…" She rolled her eyes. "Anyway, a little bird tells me you are to be our new Doctor, is that correct?" She looked at Munkustrap, who nodded.

"Well... Munkustrap asked me, and I said I would think about it," Jazzie explained. "Perhaps a look round would help me make up my mind?"

Jennyanydots nodded, "Of course! Right this way!"

She bustled them all inside and they followed her into the mountain of scrap which served as the Infirmary, walking along a wide corridor before emerging into a large, open plan space, with cushions and crash mats on the floor. "This is the waiting area," The Gumby Cat explained.

Jazzie noticed that Alonzo, Plato and Admetus were already there, along with a Tortoiseshell Angora, who had a kitten clambering across her lap. "I'm rushed off my feet today," sighed Jennyanydots. "I could really use an extra pair of paws..."

"I'll be right with you!" she called to the group.

Jazzie watched as Munkustrap went to greet the queen, then picked up the kitten and beckoned her and her sisters to come over. "This is my mate," he explained, and then turned to address her. "Demeter, this is Jazzie… the one we rescued... and these are her colleagues, Hortenseya, Lucitana and Norstara."

Jazzie shook her paw, trying to ignore her squirming insides. For, although she smiled back, the Tortie's honey coloured eyes observed her with… suspicion?

"Nice to meet you," she said evenly (She seemed friendly enough) "I hear you, too, were held captive by The Hidden Paw?"

"Demeter, how many times do I have to tell you, his name is Macavity!" Munkustrap reminded her. "None of this 'Hidden Paw' nonsense! You know that mythologizing him only instills fear in people, and _that's _what he gets off on." He turned to the kitten in his arms, "Isn't that right, Meritas?"

"This is my youngest by the way," he told the queens. "Say hello, Meritas."

The kitten, whose fur was mottled white with silver and brown tabby 'points', was busy trying to grab of his whiskers! At being addressed, his baby-blue eyes widened and he gave puffed out his chest in the most adorable impression of his father. "I not scared of Uncle 'Cavity...!" he proclaimed. "...Have to fight him! Grrrr!" And he went back to attacking Munkustrap's white whiskers.

Munkustrap just smiled, his eyes unashamedly full of pride, "That's ma boy!"

"That's what worries me," said Demeter, prizing the kitten back into her arms. "He has no sense of fear, whatsoever. That's why we're here."

"Why? What happened?" Munkustrap suddenly looked deeply concerned.

"He fell off the climbing frame and banged his head," she told him.

"Oh dear..." He stroked his son's head, "Is he alright?"

"He SEEMS fine," Demeter said reassuringly. "In fact, he didn't even cry… but, I'm going to get Jenny to take a look at him, just in case.

"Hmmm... he certainly doesn't look unwell _,"_Munkustrap said thoughtfully, as he watched Meritas run around the room, pretending to be Supercat…

"Superkitty to the rescuuue! Don't worry! _I'll_save you...! Who need rescuing...?!"

"But, if it makes you feel better, we have a doctor here now _..." _He turned to the Snowshoe, "Jazzie? If wouldn't you mind... sorry to throw you in at the deep end..."

"Of course not!" Jazzie said, beaming. "It's the least I can do for the one who rescued me."

Ignoring Demeter's raised eyebrows, she took a deep breath and bent down to take a look at the fidgeting kitten, who was most put out at having been made to stand still by his mother...

"Mertie!" Demeter scolded. "Keep still for the nice doctor!"

But the cheeky kit continued to wiggle and squirm!

"Keep still, you!" said Munkustrap, and clamped his paws on either side of the kitten's torso, holding him firmly in place.

The kitten tried to escape the iron grasp, but found that he could barely move a hair! However, he could still squall at this most unfair theft of his freedom… and so proceeded to exercise this God given right… "Whaaaa...!"

He eventually calmed down though, becoming distracted by Jazzie's dark brown tail, which she waved in front of him, careful to keep it just out of reach of his sharp little claws… "Hello, Meritas," she said kindly. "My name is Doctor Jazzie. I must say, it's very good to meet you. I hear you bumped your head earlier, is that right?"

The kitten nodded, looking very serious. "I fell off the climbing tree."

"Can I see?"

"Ok." The kitten stared at her. "Why you talking funny?"

Jazzie chuckled as she parted the fur on his head. "Do I talk funny?"

"I think you do. You don't talk like Mummy or Daddy."

"That's because I wasn't born in London." She placed a pince nez on the end of her nose and narrowed her eyes as she scrutinised every part of his head.

"Where were you born?"

"I was born in a different city, called Paris."

"Where's Paris? Is it in England?"

"No." She carefully felt his head for lumps. "It's in a different country called France, where they speak a different language, called French. That is the language I speak, but when I came here, I had to learn to speak English instead."

The kitten looked thoughtful, not really understanding. "Why did you leave? Didn't you like it?"

She smiled wistfully at that. "I was brought here by an English human… came over on a big, BIG boat."

The kitten's eyes widened. He'd never seen a boat before. Was it like one of those roaring monsters that went whizzing by sometimes? "When will you go back?" He asked.

She chuckled again. "I might go back for visits... but this is my home now."

After she had examined him, Jazzie addressed Demeter, "I can feel a medium sized lump, but otherwise, all seems ok."

Demeter nodded attentively.

"Any sign of fits, headaches, drowsiness or vomiting?"

Demeter shook her head.

"Well then, I don't think there is anything to worry about... but, of course, if you _do _notice anything suspicious, just bring him straight back, ok?"

"Thank you," said Demeter, looking relieved. She picked up the kitten and turned to Munkustrap. "I have to go and see Bombalurina. I might see you later?"

"Thank you," said Demeter, looking relieved. She picked up the kitten and turned to Munkustrap. "I have to go and see Bombalurina. I might see you later?"

"Possibly..." he replied. "Give Bombi my love."

"I'll be sure to."

He ruffled the kittens fur. "Goodbye, little one… don't get into anymore mischief, ok?" He then gave Demeter a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Bye, Daddy!" Called Meritas, waving. "Bye, funny-talking lady!"

Munkustrap smiled and waved back, but the moment they'd gone, his expression turned grim.

He walked over to his eldest son... "Quick word!" he muttered.

Alonzo reluctantly followed him to a corner, where they proceeded to have a quiet, but heated discussion.

"It would be nice," Munkustrap was saying, "if I could just have a little bit of acknowledgement... or even an apology... but no! You seem to think that when anything goes wrong, it's somehow someone else's fault...!"

Gradually, the room fell silent, as every cat in the vicinity strained their ears to listen...

"... And let me tell you! If I hadn't gotten out of there when I did, we would've all been killed...!"

"But, it wasn't just me-!"

"Go on! Disagree with me! I DARE you!"

Munkustrap waited for another retort, but the teenager wisely kept his mouth shut and took the humiliating dressing down in silence…

"Rescue missions are extremely dangerous, YOU know that! Therefore, it's vital that you do EXACTLY what I tell you! You don't go off and do your own thing…!"

"But I wasn't-!"

"I KNOW you were trying to prove something to me! But all you did was show me that you're not as ready for this kind of responsibility as I thought you were..."

"So, what are you saying? That I'm off the team?!" Alonzo asked incredulously.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Munkustrap replied. "Until you can prove to me that you have what it takes, I'm afraid you'll be staying behind from now on. I'm sorry it has to come to this, but I can't risk any more mistakes..."

"But, Dad! THAT'S NOT _FAIR...!"_ Alonzo yelled.

"It's perfectly fair! If I or you, or one of the queens had been killed, would that have been fair?"

"But, you can't do this-!"

"As the Protector, it is up to me who is on my team and who ISN'T. Now stop being a petulant kitten-!"

"I'm not-!"

"You're not doing yourself any favours. Now, go sit down, and maybe learn to grow up while you're at it!"

Muttering angrily, Alonzo stomped over to the other side of the room and kicked a chair, then threw himself into it and put his head in his paws!

A short time later, he glanced up and gave everyone a, 'What the Hell do you think you're gawping at…!' death stare, and one by one, the onlookers went back to their own hushed conversations, trying to act as though nothing untoward had occurred.

"Right!" Jennyanydots announced, bustling over to the new queens, brandishing an Electrolux Olympia One vacuum cleaner. "The Worm and Flea Clinic is open! Jazzie, dear? You first!"

"What is this?" Jazzie asked suspiciously.

"Nothing to worry about!" Munkustrap reassured her, before shooting a glare at Alonzo, who was glowering in his direction! "Look at me like that one more time Son, and I'll be having words with your mother!" He turned to Jennyanydots. "Where is Jellylorum, anyway?"

"My sister?" She asked. "Oh, she's in the creche Dear, where she normally is."

"Hmm…" Munkustrap flashed one last glare at his son, then promptly turned his back on him.

Alonzo did likewise.

"Jenny has a zero tolerance policy on fleas," he explained to the queens in a more placid tone of voice. "Those who have been within a barge pole touching distance of Macavity and his vermin must be thoroughly checked and treated. Myself included."

"But the shampoo..." Jazzie began.

"...Doesn't kill all. Jenny knows how to deal with the rest... and by the way, let me just warn you... this is no ordinary Hoover. My son... tinkered with it…"

"Take a seat, dear," Jennyanydots instructed Jazzie.

The Snowshoe obediently sat down, and the Old Queen began parting her fur, tutting every so often... "My my… you poor duck! You're_crawling _with them! I shall commence treatment right away."

She held up the nozzle and switched on the machine, which strangely didn't make a sound, apart from the whooshing of air, as it proceeded to suck up every last parasite from Jazzie's fur.

After thoroughly vacuuming all the queens, Jenny finally got round to Munkustrap, and tutted again at the cut on his eyebrow. Then she gasped in horror as she parted his fur, to reveal a patchwork of angry looking bruises... "Goodness me! More fighting?!"

"I'm afraid so. You say the same thing every time."

She tutted. "Well, they must've been filthy, whoever they were. You're positively riddled!"

Having treated all of the cats, Jenny handed Jazzie and her sisters a small tablet each, together with a small cup of water.

"What's this for?" asked Lucitana.

"Worming tablets," The Gumbie Cat explained. "We all need to take them at least once a month to stop us getting sick. You should start putting on some weight now. You lot look half-starved!"

* * *

When the Worm and Flea clinic was over, Jennyanydots took them to another ward. "This is the kitten's ward," she announced. "We have many sick ones in here."

Sure enough, on both sides of the room were lines of beds, separated into cubicles by curtains. And every bed was occupied by a number of kittens of varying age, some looking very ill indeed.

"These are all strays," Jennyanydots explained. "Either abandoned or lost... we find them, or they are sent to us, and these are the lucky ones. My sister Jellylorum and I give them as much love as we can... but there are so many." She sighed, "There's nothing sadder than an unloved, unwanted baby of ANY kind, for they often grow up to be damaged adults." She looked at Munkustrap when she said this.

"Hey! I turned out alright, eventually!" Munkustrap said with a smile. "My siblings and I were abandoned," he explained to Jazzie.

"Only a few days after I delivered you!" Jennyanydots reminisced. "What a shock that was..." She seemed to be far away... but then, was startled out of her reverie by a loud rattling!

Hurtling towards them at great speed, was the most curious sight one ever did see!

Two little tom kittens. One, a peaches and cream tabby, supporting himself upon a wheeled walking frame using his thin, weak legs to propel himself forwards, and the second, a black and white tuxedo, who was completely missing the bottom half of his legs, having to push himself along in a wheelchair. "Haha! I'm gonna beat ya, Merthyr! I'm gonna beat ya!" yelled the latter of the two.

"Not if I beat you first, Astor!" shouted the former.

They came to a halt at Jennyanydots's feet and looked up at her with a mixture of wide-eyed innocence and guilt on their young faces. "Now, you two!" she said sternly. _"_What have I told you about racing? There are many sick kitties in here! You must go back to the creche with Jellylorum. Did you sneak off again?"

"Sorry Jenny," sniffed peaches and cream kitten. "I just wanted to see me sister... check she's ok, like..."

Jennyanydots's tone softened. "Oh yes! You're Sophia's twin, aren't you? She's just here."

In a small cot, lay a tiny bundle of peaches and cream fur, and one would have thought she was a newborn kitten, had they not known she was Merthyr's twin.

However, Jazzie could immediately see that there was something very wrong. Her eyes swung unseeingly in different directions and she seemed to have no control over her limbs.

"Their mother died giving birth," Jennyanydots said sadly. "Both kits were born with cerebral palsy, but because Sophia was born last, she got it much worse than her brother. Poor thing. I have made her as comfortable as I can, but I doubt she will live much longer."

That seemed to make up Jazzie's mind. "I will work here," she said decisively. "My sisters and I will serve your community for as long as we are needed. We owe you that much! Do you agree, girls?"

She looked at them, and they nodded.

"Fantastic news!" Said Jennyanydots, "If there's anything you need?"

"Well... we need to go to The London to collect some things," Jazzie said thoughtfully. "But, as soon as we get back, we can start straight away."

* * *

Later that day, a small group of Jellicles travelled in their feline guises, taking the tube to Warren Street Station on Tottenham Court Road, then walked the remaining view yards to Gower Street and stood at the grand entrance to The University College London Hospital, a place that never failed to fill Munkustrap with awe whenever he saw it.

"You work here?" He asked, staring up at the huge Cruciform Building, which was so called because it was constructed in the form of St. Andrews Cross, using Edwardian red brick and bands of terracotta.

"And live." She smiled. "Come on!"

She led them to the main doors, where they snuck inside between the feet of some humans. Then she led them through the marble clad outpatients hall and through a bewildering maze of corridors, before finally entering some kind of cloakroom.

Taking a key from a piece of string around her neck, she opened a locker and removed four brown medical bags from it, passing three to her sisters.

Munkustrap watched with fascination as the queens then opened up the bags and went through them, thoroughly checking every piece of equipment…

"I need another stethoscope. This one's had it!" Complained Hortenseya, holding up a tattered, rubber contraption, with a pair of hooked ear pieces at one end and a metal scope on the other.

Next, Jazzie took them to a store room.

With Munkustrap as lookout, she read from a list, checking off each item, while Lucitana, Hortenseya and Norstara filled up six carrier bags with medicines and other items unknown to Munkustrap.

"One question," said Norstara, as she filled up the last bag. "How are we going to get all this stuff back?"

"I might have a solution," said Munkustrap. "One moment…" He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and started to concentrate very hard. _"Misto?" _He called in his mind. _"Misto!"_

_"No need to shout! What's the problem?"_

_"Could you do me a favour and teleport these items to the Infirmary office?" _Munkustrap put a paw on each of the bags, followed by the medical bags.

_"Sure, no probs." _The items began to disappear in the order that Munkustrap had touched them. _"Anything else?"_

_"No, that's fine."_

He turned to a perplexed looking Jazzie. "My son is a magician," he explained again. "The items will be waiting for you on your return."

"Wow… tell him thank you, won't you?"

"Of course..." He pinched the bridge of his nose again._ "Jazzie says thank you."_

_"Tell her the pleasure is all mine... and that it's very nice to hear some gratitude for a change." _

_"I'll give you gratitude in a minute…!"_

_"Yeah, sure you will, Dad!"_

The connection went dead and Munkustrap messaged his forehead.

"Are you alright?" Asked Jazzie, looking concerned.

He grimaced. "Yeah. Fine. Telepathy gives me a headache, that's all."

"I have something for that back at the Infirmary."

"Then let's get back. Lead the way."

* * *

They returned to the Yard a few hours later, to find that the stuff had indeed, magically appeared on the office table.

After a few cups of well earned tea and a tuna sandwich or two, Munkustrap then bid the queens farewell.

"Let me know if you need anything else," he said.

Jazzie smiled as he left, and then set to work on her first patient, thinking how wonderful it was to be back, doing what she was born to do, and that she would never be able to thank him enough.

* * *

When work was finally over, the queens made their way to their newly allocated den, which wasn't too far from Munkustrap's.

They sat around their little camping stove, drinking more tea and eating fish paste sandwiches, while discussing the events of the last few days.

That was when Lucitana turned to Jazzie with a distinct gleam in her eye. "So?"

"So?"

"Do tell!"

Jazzie frowned. "Tell you what?"

Lucitana exchanged knowing glances with Norstara and Hortenseya. "What's with you and lover boy?"

"He's not my lover!" Jazzie wrapped her tail around her legs.

"Rubbish!" Norstara chimed in, "I've seen the way you look at him. And you swore you'd never fall in love-!"

"I'm NOT in love...!"

"Yes, you _are! _You _lurve _him...!" Lucitana gave her a playful shove!

"I do NOT...!" Jazzie crossed her arms.

"And he definitely fancies you..."

"Tensy, for the last time, I am NOT-!" Jazzie's eyes widened. "Wait? What did you say?!"

"Oh... I clocked him checking you out when he thought no one was looking..." Hortenseya waved her paw in an offhand way... "but he didn't bank on me having eyes in the back of my head..."

"You mean, you haven't noticed the chemistry between you?" Lucitana looked at Jazzie as though she was sickening for something. "Cat Everlasting Girl, are you blind?! It's positively buzzing!"

"Yeah!" they all agreed... except for Jazzie, who scowled at them!

"You should ask him out," Hortenseya persisted. "Come on! You'd make a _really _cute couple! And besides, you wouldn't be alone. I quite fancy that black Angora who came in earlier."

Jazzie looked at her blankly. "Black Angora?"

"Yeah, Munk's son, Mistoffelees. He came in and introduced himself?"

Jazzie still looked blank.

"Oh!" Tensey slapped her forehead. "You were with a patient, weren't you? I forgot that."

"Mistoffelees?" asked Norstara, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't he a bit… you know... vertically challenged?"

"Well… yes, there is that," Hortenseya admitted. "But there's just something about him…" she explained. "It's not just the fact that he's phenomenally talented, and has magic that could blow your mind, or the fact that he's just so amazingly cute and... _" _She sighed dreamily.

"So, Jazz!" She said. "I'll ask mine out, if you ask _your's _out. How about it?"

Jazzie replied sullenly, "He already has a mate, or did you completely miss that?"

The korat shrugged. "Yeah? So what? He's probably got hundreds."

At Jazzie's look of dismay, she gently reasoned, "A tom CAN have more than one, you know! It's not exactly unheard of, is it? I don't know why some queens make such a fuss about it, to be honest. It's perfectly normal! Especially for a tom of Munkustrap's calibre." She smirked, adding slyly, "What with him being an _alpha male _and everything!"

"I'm off to bed!" Jazzie said moodily.

The others exchanged shrugs...

"She DEFINITELY is..." Lucitana whispered to Norstara.

"I heard that!" Jazzie snapped.

Trying to ignore their tittering, she lay down and closed her eyes... to find a handsome, silver face there to greet her... just as it had from the moment she'd first set them on him...

_"I can't believe that life's so complex __  
__When I just want to sit here and watch you undress __  
__I can't believe that life's so complex __  
__When I just want to sit here and watch you undress __  
__  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__  
__Does it have to be a life full of dread __  
__I wanna chase you round the table, I wanna touch your head __  
__Does it have to be a life full of dread __  
__I wanna chase you round the table, I wanna touch your head __  
__  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__  
__I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering __  
__When you taste so good __  
__I can't believe that the axis turns on suffering __  
__When my head burns __  
__  
__Love, love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__  
__Even in the summer __  
__Even in the spring __  
__You can never get too much of __  
__A wonderful thing __  
__  
__You're the only story that I never told __  
__You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so _ _  
__You're the only story that never been told __  
__You're my dirty little secret, wanna keep you so _ _  
__  
__Come on out, come on over, help me forget __  
__Keep the walls from falling as they're tumbling in __  
__Come on out, come on over, help me forget __  
__Keep the walls from falling on me, tumbling in __  
__Keep the walls from falling as they're tumbling in __  
__  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, love, love, love __  
__That I'm feeling __  
__This is love, this is love __  
__That I'm feeling." _  
(This Is Love by PJ Harvey)

* * *

*1 My God! Am I dreaming?  
*2 He's gorgeous! Jazzie! Do not be crazy! Do not lose your head because of a tom!  
*3 Shit!  
*4 And I have heard a lot about you, my dear Jazzie.  
*5 You speak, French?  
*6 Oh yes, of course! It is the language of love! A beautiful language.  
*7 And you speak it beautifully.  
*8 Thank you, so much. I teach it, too, you know!  
*9 When will the kittens be born?  
*10 One more month of Hell, thanks to Munkustrap, and my sister is in the same boat.


	9. Hope Diamond

Inside the ornate Matcham walls of the Slick Casino, deep within the bowels of its interior, an urgent meeting was taking place, and it's mastermind was making clear that he was in a less than amiable mood. Actually, he rarely _ was _ in a good mood, unless he was killing something.

"Evelyn!" He bellowed. "Bring up the images of the four who escaped!"

"Please."

The wild-haired Maine Coon froze. Quite involuntarily, one of his eyelids also began to quiver. "_ What... _ did... you... _ say?" _

"You forgot to say please," the electronic prima donna answered tonelessly.

"Forgot to say please?" He repeated. "Forgot to say _ please?" _ There was a reverberant crack as both of his paws balled into fists. "How about I forget NOT to put my foot through your monitor, you recalcitrant piss-tray! Now, get on with it!"

There was a short pause as the belligerent machine considered this, then images of four queens flashed up.

"Hmmm…" Calm once again, he studied them for a long time, habitually stroking his beard-like chin fur, his heavy brow becoming increasingly lined the more deeply he thought. "I'm rather disappointed that they are missing," he muttered to himself, his voice plummy and as slick as crude oil. "They were my finest performers… the Cullinans of my collection... but especially my little Hope Diamond." His eyes came to rest on one of the images, scrutinizing its every detail as though searching for flaws... but of course, found none. She was practically perfect, an exquisite treasure in every way, and the thought that someone had gotten their filthy, conniving paws on her caused his claws to dig sharply into his palms!

It was almost laughable.

He. The supreme crime lord of London, had been robbed by his own brother, a traitor and worthless inferior of all things!

"Computer!" He barked. "Get me further information on fig. 5!"

"I have a name. Did you forget it?"

Macavity sneered. "Oh, _ I'm _ sorry, what was it again? Oh, that's it. Heap of junk! Soon to be lump of scrap metal if you don't do what I say, immediately!" He turned angrily to his technician, a blue tabby and white bicolour who was punching numbers into the keyboard. "Seriously, Narkskull," he complained. "Can't you fix this damn thing before it gives me an aneurysm?"

But before the cat could stutter an answer, Macavity was once again shouting elsewhere at the top of his lungs. "Griddlebone? Griddlebone?! Where in the blazes are you!? Answer me, goddamnit! Do you seriously think I like listening to the sound of my own voice-?"

"I'm right here... _ Honeybunch." _

Casually materialising from the shadows like a stark phantom, the queen was an angelic vision in a gown of white. Shapely legs tottered upon dainty pink paws, contrasting with her thundercloud hips, which were encased in a mass of billowing fur as light as swan feathers; and her generous cleavage was accentuated by a beribboned waspie of delicate pink, designed to cinch in a waist that had borne many a kitten. With devilish blue eyes trained on her boss, she smiled a black widow's smile as she handed him a vial of seething liquid, which he immediately swallowed.

"Better, my sweet?" She crooned, as she took the empty vial back off him, her voice saccharine and as smooth as an ice rink.

"You got the mixture right this time, I presume?" He growled, at which she hooked her tail tantalisingly over one arm and examined her sharpened claws.

"Checked it twice. The first batch cost poor old Faro his last few breaths. Such a nasty way to die, choking on one's own spleen. Too much wormwood apparently. I made sure to get it right this time. It shouldn't cause anymore of those nasty little... side effects."

Meanwhile, information was still loading up on the screen, each image appearing at an excruciatingly slow rate of one sliver every two minutes:

Name: Claudette Jazzimoré.

Seal point. Snowshoe.

Age: 4

Birthplace: Paris

Occupation: Doctor

Former place of work and residence: University College London hospital...

"You may go," he told the sassy Angora, before turning to the gathering of hench cats, who were sitting nervously around a table, paying no more attention to the queen as she slipped back into the shadows from whence she had come.

"I want these queens BACK!" He thundered, thumping a fist on the table in time to every syllable. "You will watch that yard! Watch it day and night! They can't stay in there forever. At some point, my brother will make a mistake. They'll want to sneak out and explore, and when they do, that is when you grab them! I don't care how you do it, as long as they are alive and intact. Do I need to reiterate that for you?!"

He was quickly answered by a synchronicity of shaking heads and mumbled utterances.

"No boss."

"No boss."

However, one individual- a cat who was such an abyssal shade that only the glowing embers of his eyes could be seen- was brave enough to inquire, "Why exactly do you want them back, Sir? There are many exotic specimens inhabiting Westminster. Surely it would be easier to simply replace the ones that are missing?"

Macavity glowered, his own amber orbs narrowing with frustration. "Because, LAWRENCE, I consider their abduction a slight on my person, which I cannot allow to let pass. OTHERWISE, it'll look like I am losing my touch! That I have become… complacent. If that happens, my enemies will start to take other liberties and we can't possibly have THAT, can we? Unless, you all wish to lose your jobs, of course?"

The gathering collectively shuddered, for they all knew (mostly from first hand experience) that those who had supposedly 'lost their jobs' also tended to lose parts of their anatomy as well. Quite often their heads!

Meanwhile, Macavity raved on, firing himself up for a full-scale rant, complete with fist pumping the air, of which they had no choice but to listen to; and oh, how therapeutic it was to have such an appreciative audience! "I intend to teach that blithering protector idiot WHY stealing from Macavity was an injudicious choice! He shall rue the day he crossed me! I shall spill his blood all over the wretched yard, until there is not a drop left! I will tear his heart out and feed it to the sewer rats! I'll rip his limbs off and-"

"Alroit guv, we get the bleedin' picture! That you wanna kill im an' all that, but whassit got to do wiv us?"

"Mungojerrie." The red Maine coon scowled at the tom- a scruffy looking torbie who had dared to interrupt his harangue- thinking he would have liked to have splattered his brains across the wall had he not been so useful to him. "As two of my finest cat burglars, I want you and your counterpart to spy on our dear enemy," he said with painfully forced pleasantness. "Report back to me everything that he does… and I _ mean _ everything!"

Mungojerrie looked at him with obvious puzzlement, his eyebrow skewed and his top lip scrunched up, making him look very daft indeed. "You talkin' abat Rum Tum Tugger? Whatchu wan' us to spy on 'im for?"

As ridiculous as Mungojerrie's expression was, Macavity did not seem to see the funny side of it, since he gritted his teeth and answered, "_ Because... _ I'm talking about Munkustrap, you _idiot!" _

Mungojerry continued to look at him blankly. "Nah, I'm confused. Which one d'you want us to spy on?"

It took all of Macavity's rapidly dwindling self control to remain calm enough to make a polite request. "Evelyn? Bring up fig.1. And if it takes you more than a second, I will put a fire extinguisher through your screen!"

The image flashed up after exactly nine hundred and ninety nine milliseconds, although Mungojerrie stared at it for considerably longer than that.

Finally, he grinned. "Oh! That's me old mucker! Whass'ee doin' up there?"

Macavity replied very slowly, "I... want... you... to SPY on him!"

"'Ang abou'! You're 'avin a bleedin' laugh, ain't ya?!" The queen who was sitting next to Mungojerry suddenly spoke up. She looked and sounded almost identical to her brother, all apart from her voice, which was rather like that of air being forced through a squeaker, which had been placed in front of a microphone. "You mean, even when he does his 'you know whats?'"

Macavity sighed, rubbing a spot on his forehead that had started to gently throb. "Mungojerry... I have honestly no idea what your consociate just jabbered to me. However, if she makes that sound again, I will permanently sow her muzzle shut with her own entrails. Capiche?"

Rumpleteazer pursed her lips, the look on her face showing affronted indignation. Wisely though, she kept her mouth shut.

Meanwhile, Mungojerry was semi-cowering under the table, and only sat up straight again once she had to forcibly drag him out. "Oh… er... right you are... Sir…"

"I only want to know important details," Macavity went on. "His plans, his movements and such like. And be sure to send daily correspondence, via pigeon rather than in person. The less contact I have with you two, the better. For both of us."

"But 'ow will we do that?" The tom mirrored his sister's perplexed look, his thick cockney accent an attribute to the rough places he and his sister had grown up in. "Munkus ain't one for idle chit chat, ya know! In fact, he 'ates us!"

"I can't imagine why," Macavity muttered under his breath.

"I don't know, why don't you think of something?!" He snapped. "You ARE capable of thought, are you not?" He closed his eyes, painfully. "On second thoughts, don't answer that question. I do not wish to hear you speak; it sounds like a dog vomiting in my ears."

In fact, the longer the irritating scoundrels sat there, staring at him with those stupid, gormless looks on their faces, the more he wanted to get them out of ear shot AND eyesight, before he changed his mind about murdering them most horribly!

"How about they volunteer for something, sir?" Lawrence suddenly offered, sensing the rapidly increasing volatility of his master's mood. "Like they did last year?"

Macavity looked at him as though he'd just described the abominable state of the public toilets in Brockwell Park. "You mean the stupid play?" His voice grew steadily louder. "The one that Buffoon put on for my windbag of a father? What was it again? An elaboration of some dogs barking that a half-brained kitten would have been proud of? HA! And this is the same idiot who stole my queens from under YOUR incompetent noses!"

Lawrence stammered, "l-I have every faith in the new group of guards, Sir. The queens should be y-yours b-b-by the end of next week."

"B-b-by the end of next week?" Macavity mocked. "What lies are these? Should be, could be... Worthless bullshit!" His voice lowered. "Let me put it another way. Those queen's WILL be mine by the end of next week, or there won't be any of you left alive! However, I WILL have an impressive quantity of new cushion covers, so one mustn't focus on the down side."

Lawrence grovelled. "Of course sir! I won't let you down sir!" But Macavity simply waved a dismissive paw.

"Whatever! I don't care what you do, as long as it's productive and those two fools are far away from me!" He shot daggers at Mungojerry and Rumpleteazer. "Now get out! All of you!"

The burglar twins may only have shared about one brain cell between them, but even _ they _ knew when it was time to leave. Immediately, there followed a rush and an emptying of chairs, as cats scrambled en masse for the door.

Looking back, the last to see him was Lawrence.

Being the one with the unenviable task of having to stand by the door, he watched benignly while his master screeched maniacally and tore at everything around him, including the walls. He even tried to destroy the computer, but it had already been folded away behind a reinforced panel.

It was a scene that the Advisor had witnessed many times before. Yet, from his hiding place in the shadows, he couldn't help but heave a dejected sigh, knowing he would be the one who would have to clear up the mess once the fiend had burned himself out.

Such a pity his Hope Diamond couldn't be there to provide a distraction.


	10. Sorry Cassandra

**Definitely nsfw**

* * *

A strange thing happened to Munkustrap that evening.

Well... strange in the loosest possible sense.

It was something that had actually happened to him the week before, and in fact, occurred so regularly that it had become rather like the chattering squirrel: irritating, but not worth paying much attention to, unless one fancied a snack that bit savagely and had less appetising meat on it than a workman's boot.

He was already in a less than tolerant mood, since he had recently woken from his afternoon nap having hardly slept, and the sleep he'd had had been plagued by things he didn't wish to ruminate on. Yawning, he made his way downstairs, too distracted to care about the human whose trouser leg he deposited fur on, or the acknowledging scratch behind the ears, or even the breakfast that had been left in his bowl. He ambled straight passed it without so much as a glance- even though he could tell by the aroma that it was a mixture of chicken and beef; his favourite. He just didn't seem to have much of an appetite at the moment… at least, not since _She_ had arrived.

He thought about the little gift he'd sent her, and suddenly found himself trying to picture her face as she'd received it. He wondered if he had been mentioned in any of their discussions, or whether she'd thought about him at all, and whether or not it was too early to pay her a visit?

Knowing deep down he already had the answer to that, he forced himself back to the task at hand, which involved having to run the gauntlet of human feet without getting kicked or trodden on, and then get himself safely to the Yard without ending up as one of the many victims of the road; and that wasn't the only danger he had to beware of.

Taking a meandering route East, he decided to patrol the Great Central Border, an area where the expanse of his territory was interrupted by the railway line, which, coupled with the adjacent main road, essentially acted like a double man-made barrier. Even so, as he followed the path along Paveley Street, he made sure to check the crossings, for they were places that were frequently trespassed by rivals coming across from Camden to try their luck.

While he could strut about the yard without too much of a care for the majority of the time, here he had to be vigilant, knowing if he didn't have all of his wits about him, he could very well find himself on the receiving end of a surprise attack.

He grew especially wary as he approached the area where the incident had occurred two nights before, with it still very fresh in his memory. He certainly wouldn't forget her terrified screams in a hurry... or the fact that he'd hurt her. _All for her own good, of course,_ he told himself, and then looked across the tracks, having noticed some peculiar activity.

Indeed, there did seem to be a larger number of crows flying about than normal. He'd seen a fair few on his route, and now saw where they had been heading to. A cawing congregation was perched upon fences and lampposts, nothing more than avian silhouettes against a darkening backdrop, each taking its turn to fly down to something on the ground.

With grim reckoning, Munkustrap deduced that the humans had yet to clean up the mess on that side. They soon would though. Once they noticed the smell.

Giving a nonchalant hum, he decided to spare no more thought on the matter. It wasn't that he particularly enjoyed fighting or killing. He merely accepted them as part of the less glamorous aspects of his duty. Another day at the office. A position that seemed so noble to those who had the luxury of never knowing what it really entailed. Hell. If only HE had known!

As dusk diminished into a mild May evening, the tomcat patrolled until well beyond the point where his charcoal paws had begun to ache, checking all scents and 'signposts', to find nothing amiss. All were devoid of anything unfamiliar, and intimidating marks were found to be a week old at most. So, after reaching the Southern Marylebone Border (or the Flyover as it was more often known) he cut back on himself, heading along Tresham Crescent and into some gardens, before pulling up onto a wall.

Being a less affluent area than the rest of Westminster, the majority of the buildings were made up of council houses and blocks of flats, which were much too high for him to climb. However, the buildings along this road were only several stories and had balconettes, which made things a little easier. Gainly, he hopped onto one of them, then to an upper window ledge, then clambered the rest of the way until he reached the flat rooftop.

From this vantage point, he could scan the area without having to waste precious energy scouring it on foot, as well as make more intelligent choices about where to head to next. The only problem was…

There were none.

The sky was like a puddle of blue ink, entirely unblemished, save for an orange segment moon and the burning dot of Venus. Everything seemed calm and peaceful, with not even a breath of wind to stir the maple leaves. Yet, for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that something sinister lay on the horizon, waiting for its opportunity to strike.

Bast. His brother would most likely scoff and tell him to "quit worrying so much," and also that he should "chill the fuck out," because "no news was good news, right?"

Munkustrap chuckled privately to himself. He would love to see how long that conceited grin of Tugger's stayed on if he DID decide to take his advice and 'chill the fuck out,' leaving the devil-may-care layabout to deal with the subsequent invasion of rampant street cats on his own.

But alas. Munkustrap knew he would rather die than ever allow that to happen.

And there was something else he hadn't thought of. Macavity was bound to have noticed that four of his queens were missing, and it probably hadn't taken him very long to figure out who had taken them. Lack of activity didn't mean that the threat had gone away. It was simply biding its time, and there was nothing he could do about it except to sit and wait for the oncoming storm.

"Tugger was right about that," he thought to himself. There was no use living one's life in a state of permanent dread, thinking upon what might happen. And so, as he sat, he mentally turned away from such troubling suppositions and moved towards a more favourable subject; one that was never far from his reveries.

Waking or sleeping, day or night, it was always there ready to plague him. He wished he could think about something else, but whenever he tried- and try everything he most certainly did- all it took was a little reminder to reel his mind back again. And recently, one of them in particular had been creeping to the forefront; always with dainty hips that were a little too angular for his liking, yet still incredibly lovely to look at. And then there were those alabaster paws that felt too fragile to be real. Yet, at the same time, he wondered what they might feel like running through his fur...

He quickly stopped himself before he went any further, taking a deep breath to calm himself, although it came out sounding more like a frustrated sigh.

It was like living life trapped in a box with no air and no way to escape. Wherever he turned, there she was: inside his head, smiling that demure smile and batting eyes the colour of nemophila flowers in a coy fashion that only she seemed to have mastered. Other queens gave him suggestive smiles that communicated exactly what they wanted from him, but only she made it look entirely accidental and it was enough to drive him mad.

He shook his head. This was ridiculous! A tom his age acting like an angsty teenager, over a queen he'd only just met and who was almost half his age?

Him. A mature father of (roughly) nineteen and counting, should really have known better, especially since he had an important job to do that demanded his full attention.

It was Spring. The Jellicle equivalent of Christmas, with a large helping of Valentine's Day thrown in.

In fact, now that he came to think of it, someone really ought to have renamed it The Season of Valentine's, even though he had no idea who Saint Valentine was, other than what he'd picked up from the human association of him with love and romance; that strange tradition of sending each other pieces of card and strongly perfumed flowers that he never could quite understand.

Regardless, it was the busiest time of the year; and something he ought to have looked forward to on the face of it. However, the reality was six months of hard work, a great deal of stress and, if he was unlucky, a nasty scratch or two. He had to contend with all these things anyway, but at this time of the year it seemed to magnify, coming to a head towards the start of the annual ball- which, he suddenly remembered, was less than a week away!

Sometimes he wondered why he didn't just Jack it all in and take himself off to the vets. Problem solved.

No more headaches, no more torment, no more dreams involving sex or violence (quite often both together). Instead, he could dedicate his time to more intellectual matters: like literature or mathematics, perhaps a spot of astronomy, or contemplating the meaning of existence, the universe and everything.

Wouldn't that be nice?

To live the high life, languishing at home with no purpose and nothing to do except to stuff one's face and be pampered by loving humans?

Absolute Hell.

He inwardly shuddered at the notion, thinking how bored he would be. A life without queens. Blissful, and yet, unimaginable. There was the one thing that kept life a shed above the torturous and to be without was almost too harrowing to contemplate.

The vet and his scalpel could wait another few years.

And speak of the devil. He was nowhere near the scrapyard and already someone was calling his name. This one husky, lower and more reverberant than Bombi's, it's provocative purr indicating that she was after something specific, and it probably wasn't to discuss the weather. And even that fleeting thought was enough to switch off all the others and cause his heart rate to speed up.

Stealth was a talent of his, but it paled in comparison to hers. She could slink around in plain sight and no one would ever know she was there, unless she wanted them to know of course. Silent and lithe as the shadows, he knew the huntress was close, even if he couldn't quite see her. Two orbs of hooded jade were the only things that gave her away, glowering at him from an elegant cat-shaped cut out. A slip shiver of a cat, darker than the night, but whose velvet-soft fur gleamed with chocolate hues when the sunlight hit it- what he believed was known as sable.

Difficult to know what kind of cat she was though. Definitely Oriental and short haired, perhaps a Havana brown or Burmese, he didn't like to get too caught up in that whole pigeonholing riff-raff. It was enough for him to simply refer to her by her name: "Cassandra."

Although, woe betide him if he dared to call her Cassie. Only Tugger had that privilege.

"Good evening, Protector," she greeted smoothly, brushing up against him and letting her claws carelessly rake through his mane. "You're early."

"Couldn't sleep."

"Is something troubling you?"

"Hmm." Why did they always ask him that, especially if they had no intention of giving a damn?

"Would you like to talk about it?" She prompted.

"I'd rather not." He gave her a slight smile, indicating there was something he would much rather do, and taking that as encouragement, she sat down beside him.

"I remember we used to talk a lot," she said, nuzzling her head lightly against his shoulder.

"If I remember, you did most of that," he deadpanned, but with a paw wrapped around her middle to prove to her he was only teasing. However, she clearly did not see the irony.

"I also remember how much you used to enjoy my company," she sighed, a certain cryptic edge to her voice that had him puzzling over what exactly she was trying to get at.

"What makes you think I still don't?"

"You never pay any attention to me."

"I am acknowledging you now," he said, looking confused.

"Yes, but at other times, you act like I am not there."

He frowned. "Like when-?"

"Like, when we are at the Ball. You seem far more interested in talking to _Them_ than to me..."

He sighed wearily. "And by 'Them', you mean?"

She huffed, "Those irritating kittens with their silly games...!"

"Of course, you never were one of those, were you?" he muttered under his breath. Even as a kitten she'd thought herself superior to everyone else.

"...and Bombalurina with her incessant flirting...!"

"Like _you_ never do that…"

"...and as for Demeter…!" She practically spat the name... "SHE seems to think it's perfectly becoming to squeal at her own shadow every five minutes, when everyone can see she's only doing it for attention! I don't know why everyone pandas to her!"

"No! Really? I thought you two got along like a house on fire?" He pretended to look surprised, but she snootily crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air.

_"This is going well,"_ he thought. If it carried on down this path, then she would leave and he'd be left bereft and in the kind of mood that would cause a rottweiler to give him a wide berth.

"Cassie?" He decided to take the risk. "As you know, a lot of… stuff... happened at last year's Ball. But that's over and done with now (his mother had decided to rock up after a six year absence and had asked for forgiveness; which she had eventually received in the form of The Choice, but hey, there was no need to dwell on such matters). I know it may have _seemed_ like I was too busy to pay you attention, but look here." He placed a paw on her hip, hoping to get her out of this dismal state she was in (and, in fact, never seemed to be out of.) "I am acknowledging you now, aren't I?"

Whether it was his compelling tone or the paw that was gently caressing the inguinal region below her waist, he didn't know, but it seemed to do the trick, because the next thing he knew she had climbed onto his lap without so much as a by-your-leave and began to nuzzle his neck. "Do you miss this?" She murmured.

He stifled a moan, taken aback by how well his plan had worked. "I'm not sure if I-"

She bit his ear. "What about this?"

That got his attention. "Cass…!"

"Shhh…" She covered his objections with a deep kiss, masking his feelings of guilt.

If it was wrong, why did she feel so good?

She was an attractive queen and she had chosen him. Well... him, plus a few others. That was definitely Alonzo's scent he could smell on her. "What would Alonzo say if he knew you were putting it about like this?" He crooned against her lips, to which she gave a disdainful sniff.

"_He_ won't be saying anything, since he's too busy snoring."

He feigned sympathy. "Aw? Did he only make you come once? How very selfish."

"You think you can do better?" She growled, kissing him some more and running her paws across his shoulders.

"I can try." He pulled her further into him and started to touch her practically non-existent breasts, only to have her hiss and roughly tear his paws away.

"I'll only remind you about that once, Protector!"

Of course, he forgot. She didn't like to be touched in that way.

However, touching herself was entirely acceptable, which she started to do, running her tapered claws over her sylphlike frame and down into the juncture of her inner thighs. She hummed with pleasure and began to rock back and forth.

Her moans grew louder as she threw back her head, completely lost in her world of euphoria, and was probably one of the few times he saw her truly smile.

He so far hadn't come.

It was like making love to a rake. Too many sharp corners and nothing to hold onto apart from her jutting pelvis, which she finally allowed him to grasp, too far gone to care, or maybe she was just in a better mood- it was hard to tell.

"Are you done?" She breathed out quiveringly.

"Almost..." It was taking him longer than usual. Trying to catch up to it and then falling behind again. It was like chasing after a cloud.

He closed his eyes. Sky blue ones appeared before him. He pictured her soft lips kissing his, his paw moving to caress her... He moaned and thrust harder, invigorated by Cassandra's gasps of pleasure, mixed with small yelps of pain, her claws digging into his thigh, drawing blood.

Finally. An anticlimactic 'phut' of an orgasm. Where was the rest of it?

Well, she seemed satisfied, at least. She had collapsed on top of him, apparently unaware of his disappointing experience.

"Merci beaucoup… shit! Erm... I mean, that was... Cass?"

She wasn't moving.

"Hello, Cass?" He cupped her head and clicked his fingers. "Cass? Can you hear me?"

She was having another one of her 'episodes,' that much was plain to see. They were alarming, but he was more than used to them by now, and so he held her in his arms and waited for it to pass, hoping he wouldn't have to wait too long. "Hey?" He whispered, when her eyelids eventually started to flicker. "Are you awake?"

Her eyes snapped open, staring and unseeing. "Blood!"

"What? Where?" He checked himself. None on him, apart from that bit on his thigh, but that was nothing to worry about.

"Blood!" She repeated, her voice sounding dead. "Falling like tears…"

He rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go…"

"...running like rivers. Flowing like streams, spouting like fountains-!"

"Yeah yeah, someone's going to die, like you predicted the last time we met and the time before that. Are you ok? Do you want me to fetch someone?"

She carried on as though not hearing. "Many shall perish...!"

"Blood can mean many things, Cass. Not necessarily-"

"...I heard laughter... I feel his presence... victims lying at his feet-"

His patience was unquestionably waning now. "Cass, you say that every time anyone bumps into you. You predicted that someone would die before the rescue and we all came back in mostly one piece. Perhaps this time you could be a bit more specific? Could we by chance get a name? Can I set my clock by it? Will I be able to have dinner beforehand?"

She started to get annoyed. "I can only say what I saw!"

"Which was?"

She huffed, "I do not wish to repeat it!"

_Typical! _"Fantastic. Well, thank you Cassandra. I'll not let your 'prediction' ruin my day."

She lifted off him, oblivious to the cum running down the inside of her leg. "The Sight does not work like that! Things are not always what they seem!"

"Well, there you are then. Nothing to worry about," he replied, absentmindedly wiping a damp patch off of his thigh.

"That would be folly!" She snapped. "You need to be on guard-!"

"I sleep with a blade under my fucking pillow, how much more on guard do you want me to be?!"

She turned angrily away. They never listened! "If I could only make them see what I saw," she thought, staring out at the darkness so he wouldn't see her tears. Feeling chilled, she wrapped her arms around herself, hugging tightly as though to squeeze out the empty feeling she felt, something she'd started to do almost habitually in the past few months, longing for it to be filled with a joy that others seemed to experience so readily… "How long has it been?" She whispered under her breath.

Now in her seventh year, she was beginning to get desperate, what with queens falling pregnant all around and she being the only one who was kitten-less, the stress of not being able to conceive beginning to show in the cutting edges of her shoulder blades and the sharpness of her spine. She never used to be this skinny.

Realising he'd used more aggression than he'd intended, Munkustrap got up and tried to grasp her shoulders, but she shrugged him off with a feral hiss.

"I'm sorry," he mollified, giving up on trying to comfort her.

"You think that's why I'm upset?" She sniffed.

"Is it? Why don't you tell me?"

She didn't reply, so he carried on, "I understand your concerns, but I deal in the here and now, not vague 'what ifs'. If something happens, or I find more evidence, then I will sort it out. But until then, I am not going to waste my time worrying about what MIGHT happen. That method has served me well for three and a half years and I don't think it's about to fail me now."

She turned and looked him straight in the eyes. "Oh, and four of your kittens murdered ISN'T a failure?"

The breath caught in his throat. It was like someone had taken a cricket bat to his chest, and seeing the look on his face, she immediately backtracked. "I-I'm sorry. I should never have mentioned that..."

"You think that dredging up my past will erase the bitterness you feel?" He returned coldly, thinking how what she'd said had been wholly uncalled for. She couldn't just smooth over something like that and pretend she didn't say it.

Her lip quivered. "I never intended to-"

"Exactly. That jibe was never going to be a constructive basis upon which to validate your case, because it's not even remotely relevant."

She looked aghast. "How are Alonzo's dead brothers and sisters not relevant?"

"They died before I even knew about their existence. There was nothing I could have done to prevent what happened, and yet you think I don't still live with the guilt?"

She looked down, not sure how to answer, and he saw that as an opportunity to conclude the tit-for-tat conversation before it became anymore heated.

"Whatever," he sighed. "Like I said, it's in the past. I don't need you to drag it up."

However, if he thought that was the end of it, then he was sadly mistaken, for she suddenly raised her head, with a look of conviction in her eyes. "Maybe the past DOES need to be dragged up!? The amount of times I've predicted things that have gone on to happen and yet YOU continue to not listen to me...!"

He folded his arms and stared down at her, thoroughly unconvinced. "And what exactly did you 'predict' Cassandra? Fountains of blood, but with no dates, times, names or anything else to go on?" He shook his head, almost laughing. "I'm sorry, that is bullshit-!"

"But people die-!" She tried to maintain. Was that not enough?

"People die all the time, Cass! It's called 'coincidence'."

She tore at her ears in frustration. "You don't understand-!"

"I understand that you are hurting," he interrupted. "However, you need to understand it has nothing to do with me, and I am not about to make it a problem of mine! If it's really bothering you that much, go and see the new doctor!"

"Perhaps, I will!" She spat, infuriated by his uncaring attitude. "But DON'T say I didn't warn you!" And with a parting glower, she sloped off into the night, leaping nimbly into the branches of a nearby Norway maple with her tail waving haughtily in the air, before disappearing into the foliage.

He thought about calling after her... but decided that that would be a silly idea, especially since he would rather have spent an evening with Mungojerry than to have to endure another minute of committed nagging.

Why Macavity never thought to kidnap her was one of life's great mysteries.


	11. Mixed Messages

**Warning: strong language and violence pretty much throughout. If that's not something you want to read, then kindly press the back button.**

* * *

Munkustrap had barely gotten to his front door when he was intercepted by Admetus. "Good evening, sir! Thought I'd let you know that the invitations have arrived." He showed him his bag filled with black envelopes.

"Good," said Munkustrap, taking a peek inside. "Have you checked them over?"

"Every single one present and accounted for," the brown and white tabby replied. "Would you like us to deliver them now? George has got the pigeons all ready."

Munkustrap nodded. "Please. Oh, but there are four I'd like to deliver myself, if that's ok?"

Admetus grinned. "Got them right here." He reached into the bag, pulled out four of the envelopes and handed them over.

"Fantastic." Munkustrap smiled as he double checked and saw they were the ones he wanted. "Thank you Admetus- Oh! Have there been any messages for me?"

The tabby, who had been about to head off, shook his head. "None that I've seen sir."

Munkustrap frowned. "No sign of any ravens at all?"

"No, sir. Are you expecting one?

"Yes, I am." Munkustrap hid the twinge of annoyance he felt. Why was Morgan taking so long?

"I'll be sure to keep my eyes peeled," Admetus reassured his superior, to which Munkustrap gave a curt nod.

"Thank you. And what news from the patrols?"

"Tumble and Pounce didn't report seeing anything suspicious. Shall I get them to report to the meeting?"

Munkustrap shrugged. "Only if they really want to be there."

"No problem." His friend started off to complete his task. "I'll catch you laters," he called.

"Yeah, later..." Munkustrap absentmindedly replied, and was about to head straight to the Tyre Clearing, when he suddenly remembered why he had gone to his den in the first place. Cursing himself for almost forgetting, he opened the door and went inside.

After a quick scrub to remove all traces of Cassandra, followed by further pottering about, he was back out again and making his way through the yard to his original destination. No need to hang around, and perhaps he would make the meeting on time, for once!

Something made him stop.

A muffled giggle, snapping his mind to the here and now. Recognizing its high pitched tone, he immediately dematerialised into the shadows, just in time to see a couple of torbie Angoras slink passed.

His eyes narrowed. What were those two clowns up to? No good, by the looks of things!

Peering closely, he saw that one of them had a piece of paper clutched in his paw, and they were both whispering hurriedly to one another. He had to strain his ears to listen.

"Right Jerrie, 'ere's what we'll do. You 'alf inch one of them flyin' rats and I'll put the message on."

"'Ang abou'! You know I 'ates birds! Why don't _you_ 'alf the pigeon? I was the one who wrote the bleedin' message!"

"Yeah, well! I did all the spyin' AND I had to tell you 'ow to spell-!"

"Shhh!" Mungojerrie covered her mouth with his paw and pushed her into an alcove. "Keep yer 'Obson down or 'Strappers'll 'ear ya! Where is ee anyway?" He checked the clearing. "Shit! We've lost 'im!"

"What'dya mean? Ee was 'ere a minute ago!"

"Well ee ain't now!"

"Check again!"

Jerrie took another peak out and uttered another expletive.

"What? Is 'Straps there?"

"Nah, someone's guardin' the bleedin' pigeons, ain't they! Oh... it's only George." He scrunched up his face, clearly trying to think, though it was obviously quite hard. "Right, 'ere's what we'll do. _You_ distract 'im, and I'll nab one of the pigeons."

She looked at him open mouthed. "That's what I just said-!"

"I'll have THAT, if you don't mind."

The pair screeched like a couple of cornered rabbits as Munkustrap re-materialised from the shadows and snatched the paper from Mungojerrie's paw.

Rumpleteazer recovered first.

"Wait! You can't read that!" She yelled, jumping onto him and trying to climb up to it, but he merely raised it higher, an extremely perturbed look on his face as he hadn't expected her to do that.

"Why not?"

"Dan't read it!" She pleaded, her attempts to snatch it back futile as he looked up to squint at it anyway.

"Oh, I see. It's about me." He turned to her still clinging on. "Please get down."

"Shit…!" While Teazer hurriedly slid off him, Jerrie looked ready to run for it, but Munkustrap clapped a firm paw on his shoulder.

"No no, you stay here... Hmmm…" It was difficult to read the scruffy handwriting without his specs. "...Monkus (I see you've spelt my name correctly) was seen on… what's that say? Pavrrley Street…? Oh. Paveley Street... at around 7pm. He was heard…" He had to really squint, "... shagging-some-bird at around 7.15pm- I was not 'shagging some bird!' I was shagging Cassandra, let's get the facts straight, at least. He arived (double r) at the yarrd (one r) at the later time of 7.55pm… blahdy blah... Yep… that all seems pretty accurate. You just missed a bit off the end."

Jerrie frowned. "What bit?"

"That at precisely 8 o'clock sharp, I will give you a smack on the head!"

"Agh!"

After beating the Torby across the back of the skull, he held out his paw. "Lighter."

Quickly, Jerrie fished inside his utility belt and produced a fancy gold Zippo (which he clearly hadn't bought) and meekly handed it over.

Deftly, Munkustrap flipped off the top, struck the flint wheel and held the paper to the flame, watching it catch alight for a few seconds, before dropping it into a paint tin full of rainwater. Then, he turned squarely to the pair, with a slight smile on his face. One that didn't reach his eyes. "So?" He said, with a disturbing veneer of calm. "The first thing I'd like to know is: who, or _what,_ was that information for?"

Neither Teazer nor Jerrie would answer, so he sighed... and punched Jerrie squarely in the solar plexus. "Do I need to repeat the question?"

As the Torbie sank to the ground, choking and gasping for air, Rumpleteazer just stared at him wide eyed.

"You'd better start talking!" Munkustrap growled, placing a foot on Jerrie's throat. "Because, if I think for one moment you are betraying this tribe, you will be banished faster than you can blink!"

As Jerrie started to make horrible gagging noises, she started jabbering. "It were Old Mackers! Ee made us do it! Please, don'urt 'im!"

He bared his teeth. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't give him anything, apart from a free ticket to Hell?"

She thought quickly. "Ee stood up for ya! At the Ball!"

"I did, Sir!" Jerrie choked. "I put my life on the line, Sir!"

"And why, exactly, did you do that?"

"Because... I like ya?"

"Bullshit!" Munkustrap pressed down harder.

"It's true!" Teazer screamed, tears spilling from her eyes. "Mack almost killed 'im for that! Ee did! Jerrie 'ad to pull a right fast one to keep 'is head on 'is shoulders. If you dan't believe me, you can ask the Boss 'imself!"

"Pity he didn't follow through," Munkustrap muttered, before suddenly locking out one of Rumpleteazer's arms. "Madam, did you really think kicking me there would help your situation?"

Teazer flinched as her arm was painfully twisted the wrong way. "What if I said I got information?" She said desperately.

"Don't tell 'im Teaze-!"

"Shut up, idiot!" Munkustrap kicked Jerrie in the stomach to silence him and turned back to Teazer. "What kind of information?"

"Let go of me chalk an' I'll tell ya!"

"How about if I don't rip it off?" He twisted a bit more.

"Alrigh' alrigh'!" She wailed. "Ee wants to put ya lights out!"

"That's not news. What else?"

"None of your beeswax!"

"I beg to differ." He placed his foot on Jerrie's kneecap and started to push down on it until the tom started screaming.

"Ee knows it's you who nicked 'is queens!" She blurted out. "Says ee wants em back! 'Specially 'Ope Diamond!"

Munkustrap eased his foot off slightly. "Hope Diamond? Who's that?"

"We dunno! We've no idea. All we know is she's pretty and got blue eyes."

"Ok." Munkustrap took a moment to process this. "How did he find out it was me?"

"'Is pistol an' shoo'er."

He frowned. "Pistol and shooter?"

"Yeah. Square box. Lots of letters. Bitchy thing. Sends 'im mad."

Munkustrap was quite sure he had no idea what she was going on about, but he wasn't about to admit that. "Anything else?"

"Ee called you a buffoon..."

"Accurate." He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"...'an a blithering idiot... aaaand-"

"Ok, I think I've heard enough!"

"That's all the info we got, cross me 'eart," she implored.

He chuckled mirthlessly. "That's almost funny."

"Why? You callin' me a liar?"

"In not so many words."

"If you dan't believe me, you can go and ask me Boss!" She retorted. "An' you can get off me nah, an all!" She flashed him an impish grin. "Unless... o' course... you fancy yiself some o' this?"

He roughly let go in disgust. "Quite frankly, I prefer my women to have a bit more class."

She dusted herself off. "You sayin' I ain't got class?"

"My dear, you have about as much class as a rat wearing a pencil skirt, and don't we both know it."

"Says the sod who's 'avin it off with a different queen every night!"

"You only say that because you aren't one of them."

She felt a little offended by that, but managed to hide it. "Pfft. You wish!"

"I don't."

With her uncaring attitude still unwavering, she gave him a curtsy. "Why, thank you very much... _sir!_ Charmed... I'm sure!"

Meanwhile, he had stopped listening to her and was glancing at the grandfather clock. Damn, was that the time? No, of course it wasn't. That clock didn't work. But the position of the moon told him he was very late indeed.

He zoned back to the mischievous pair, to find that Mungojerrie had staggered to his feet with help from his twin, and was holding his stomach, giving wary looks in case he was hit again.

"Right!" Munkustrap clasped his paws together and cut to the chase. "Now that that's over with, I have a proposition for you both. Whatever He's paying you to spy for him, I will double it if you spy for me."

Jerrie looked hesitant. "But what abou'... You Know Oo?" He grimaced. "Ee's gonna expect Dickie Birds. Ee'll kill us if ee don't get em."

Munkustrap waved perfunctorily. "Just make something up. Use your imagination. However..." He glared at them. "If I ever catch you spying on me again, I will personally rip out your internal organs. Do I make myself clear?"

They both answered quickly, in semi-unison.

"Yes, sir."

"Crystal clear, sir."

"Good. I would say don't let me down again, but I know that would be too much to hope for." He turned to leave. "Oh. Teazer?"

She turned back, looking expectant. "Sir?"

"That's a pretty necklace."

Automatically, she twirled the multi-coloured pearls in her fingers. "Oh? You like me new tomfoolery?"

"It matches your fur."

"Why, _sandshoe,_ sir! You're lookin a bit of a dish yourself, if you don't mind me sayin."

That earned her a ghost of a smile. "Don't mention it. You're a terrible spy."

And with that he carried on, only to be stopped in his tracks by her penetrating voice again. "'Ere?"

"Yes?"

"Well… I know I probably asked this before, but 'ow come you understand what we're sayin?"

Turning back one last time, he replied in his best cockney, "You forget where I grew up, Sweetheart. Some of us 'ad to learn 'ow to speak proper." Smirking satisfactorily at their dumbstruck faces, he walked off.

"'Ere. Teaze?" Mungojerrie whispered out of the side of his mouth. "Shouldn't we ask 'im abou' the pills? The ones we saw 'im neckin'?"

She continued to stare after the silver tom, a cunning expression slowly melding onto her be-freckled face. "Nah."

She had a better plan.


	12. The Queens' Council

**Part 2 begins with an important meeting.**

* * *

The Jellicle tribe was not some ragtag bunch of anarchical cats running around doing whatever they pleased, oh no.

What set Jellicle cats apart from the average antisocial moggie was that theirs' was a relatively civilised society; fully organised and democratic, complete with its own parliament and laws.

For example: a cat was considered an adult by the time they were twelve months of age (fifteen in cat years) and the age of consent was strictly prohibited before this.

Accidents did occasionally occur, although thankfully, these were uncommon, since the penalties for underage shinanigans could be severe. Perpetrators could find themselves banished, or even sterilised if the offence was a serial one.

Council membership was a fairly stringent affair too. One had to be female and at least a year old to join. Or, if one happened to be a mature newcomer, to have served the Jellicle community for at least that amount of time, but absolutely no one under the age of one. And definitely no kittens!

While males were not excluded from debates, they were not allowed to participate in the voting process, which basically meant that the senior panel consisted of the eldest and wisest queens, with the presiding chairqueen appointed by a deciding vote.

In effect, the yard was run by queens, and the only person _they_ answered to was their figurehead leader, who was sometimes known affectionately as The Father of All Cats. Due to his great age and wisdom, it was he and he alone who had the power to finalize or overturn a majority vote, and if it was deemed necessary to do so.

Meetings were held daily at precisely 8 o'clock sharp and lasted for the best part of an hour, so Munkustrap knew he was lucky enough to have missed most of it… but not _quite_ all.

He quietly approached the grand tractor tyre, around which the group of mature and senior queens were sitting. Twelve members were there in total, including Bombalurina and her assistant, three of his daughters Etcetera, Electra and Victoria, and also his niece Jemima... but not her mother Demeter.

_She probably hasn't managed to get a babysitter,_ he guessed, and then noticed she wasn't the only one who was absent.

"Ah! Nice of you to join us, Protector," said Jellylorum, somewhat snidely. "Early as usual."

"My apologies. Some of us had work to do," he replied gruffly, taking a seat beside Jennyanydots. "Where's Tanti?" He whispered to her. He'd spied Rumpleteazer, keeping tabs on events from the safety of a nearby car hood, but no sign of his friend or her brother.

"Poor love wasn't feeling well, so she's gone to the Infirmary," she whispered back, too engrossed in stitching together the pieces of material to look up.

"Really?" He found that surprising. "I hope it's nothing serious?"

"Shouldn't have thought so, love." And she probably would have patted his paw had she not been so busy.

Looking around, he noted Cassandra, sitting stiffly with a horn-rimmed pince nez perched on the end of her slender nose, while her elegant fingers typed out all that was being said on a typewriter. She didn't make eye contact with him.

Then, Jelly asked, "Any news from the patrol?"

"Saint John's and Great Central were clear." He heard Cassandra's claws tap away as he spoke and watched Jelly's eyebrows arch in surprise.

"Nothing to report at all?"

He softly shook his head. "Not a whiff of scent or even a tuft of fur." (They didn't need to know about the crows).

"Unusual. Who was checking the other borders?"

"I checked the Euston border," Plato piped up, appearing suddenly alongside a smaller patched tabby and white. "Pouncival here checked the Flyover."

"And what do _you_ have to report?"

He announced proudly, "No strange occurrences, Ma'am!"

She turned to the tabby. "And what about you, Pouncival?"

He looked up from fiddling with his tail and stared at her blankly. "What about me?"

"Did you see anything unusual?"

He thought hard for a moment, then began to list things off on his fingers. "Err... I saw a yellow car… it was going really fast on this massive concrete bridge thing. There was a suspicious looking man sleeping underneath it…"

"What did this... man, look like?"

"He had fur growing out of his face and he was lying under a newspaper. Oh! And he had a dog with him!"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Whose idea was it to send him?"

Munkustrap shrugged in reply. "He was keen. No one else wanted to do it."

"I did good, didn't I? Didn't I?"

Pounce was grinning excitedly and didn't notice Jelly glare at Munkustrap. "Yes, Pounce. You did wonderful."

"Yus!" He high fived Tumble, while Jelly exasperatedly addressed Munkustrap.

"Protector. Might I suggest checking the southern border, just to make sure he hasn't missed anything?"

Munkustrap felt his heart sink. Now he'd never get to the Infirmary this side of Daybreak. "Well, Jelly," he answered delicately. "I'd like to suggest a different proposition, if I may?"

She looked skeptical, but nodded. "Let's hear it?"

"How about volunteering Alonzo?"

"Alonzo?" She looked puzzled.

"Yeah, why not? He's big enough and street wise enough. He can hold his own."

"I don't doubt that. But why particularly are you reluctant to take up the entire patrol, when you yourself have been doing it for so many years?"

Munkustrap decided that honesty would be the best policy here. "Because, as I mentioned before, I believe it is unfair and unjust to lump the responsibility of the patrol solely onto one person. Sharing the responsibility would make it easier to defend the tribe, and also, what with the new queens settling in, I think it would be better if I had a greater presence around the yard."

"I don't dispute that being a reasonable option if you are finding the patrol too much for you," Jelly replied thoughtfully. "It's just that I thought you said Alonzo was on sentry duty for a month?"

"Wait. A month?!" Alonzo had been listening from the sidelines and was looking outraged. "You never told me it was going to be-!"

"Silence!" snapped his father. "Seeing as you were sleeping on the job, I have just added patrol duty to your list of responsibilities, starting from tonight. If you do it well, I may shorten your punishment."

Alonzo's eyes widened. "Wait. How did you know I was-?"

"That's none of your business, but well done for not denying it. It takes balls to admit that you fucked up."

Before Alonzo could fire anything back, Jelly raised her voice. "That sounds like a perfectly reasonable proposition, Munkustrap. But, before we move on, I would like to ask what you make of the overall findings?"

The Maine Coon cleared his throat and hopped up onto the tyre in order to address everyone. "As you know, I do not wish for anyone to feel alarmed by what I'm about to say. However, I feel I need to be as honest as I can. Going on what we have seen in the past, I think it is fair to say that we are to expect an attack." He was greeted by a flurry of murmurs, and waited patiently for them to die down before continuing. "The enemy is biding his time. When he strikes- and strike he most assuredly will- it will be at the opportune moment. At a time when our defences are at their weakest."

"That would be when?" Jelly inquired.

He answered straight. "The Ball."

The murmurs grew in volume, and Jelly had to shout over them. "Order! Order I say!"

The voices grew hushed, and she addressed Munkustrap once again. "Then, what is the answer? Are you saying we should cancel the Ball?"

He shook his head. "Cancelling the Ball is out of the question. Only my father can make a decision like that, and I'm quite sure he would not hear of it. I will ensure that no harm comes to anyone, as I have always done."

"Do you think that the decision to rescue the doctor was folly?" She questioned, knowing it was a difficult one to answer, for in retrospect, the resolution had been hotly debated at the time.

"It is a little late to be saying that now," he said with careful consideration of that fact. "We all knew the risks involved and what the bottom line was. We couldn't go on without a doctor."

Several cats nodded in accordance with his views, including Jelly herself. "That was something I think we all agreed on," she granted. "And whilst we are on the subject of the doctor, if I may ask how she is getting on?" She turned to Jenny, who looked up from her sewing.

"Well, as you know, sister, it was her first day into a very busy shift, but all in all, both she and her fellow nurses appear to be coping well. We might actually meet our waiting targets for the first time in months."

Jelly smiled. "That is good to hear. And confirms what you just said, Munkustrap, that bringing the doctor and her colleagues here was the right decision."

She moved on. "Now, if we could get back to the subject of the Ball, how are the preparations for that getting on?" She looked again at the silver Maine coon.

"The play is written. Rehearsals are going well." He looked at Jenny. "How is the costume coming along?"

"Stitching the last few bits together as we speak, dear. Jelly and I have been doing it in our spare time, and the kittens on the ward have been making the head. Once it is dry, we can put it all together and then we can start on the dress rehearsal."

"Are you still ok to perform it?" She was very noticeably pregnant now.

"Oh, yes, of course... I _should_ be. Neither me nor Jelly will be doing any dancing though, I don't think."

"What about the new queens?" Jelly cut in. "Can they dance?"

Munkustrap nodded. "Yes. Very accomplished dancers from what I saw. I plan to teach them the routines myself."

"Is Misto not in charge of the choreography this year?" She frowned as though struggling to remember whether that decision had been made or not.

"He is, but he's asked me to help out. Some of the students can be a little... recalcitrant."

"And is that partly why you wanted time off from the patrols?"

"That would certainly help," he admitted. "I would like to dedicate more time to teaching and training the new recruits if I can."

She smirked. "I suppose that would be sensible, seeing as none of us are getting any younger, eh?"

His face took on a neutral air, as a way of saying he had no intention of commenting on that remark. "I think it's common sense to take what we know and pass it on, as long as we have the opportunity." He didn't want to discuss the subject of age at this meeting, especially since he was approaching a milestone birthday that he didn't want to think about right now.

"Quite." Luckily, the senior queen was busy checking her notes for any other queries and clearly didn't want to elaborate either. "And, going back to the new queens quickly, do you plan on formally introducing them at the Ball?"

He nodded. "I have the beginnings of a song. I just need to see my brother about the melody."

"Alright then, best let you get on with that." Jelly looked ready to wrap up the meeting. "Is there anything else anyone wanted to bring up?" She called, raising her gavel. "No? Alright then. Meeting adjourned."

She slammed her gavel down and the cats quickly dispersed.

By the time Big Ben struck nine, not one remained, apart from two senior councillors and one Maine coon tom, who they were speaking quietly to, keeping their voices low in order to avoid any possible eavesdropping.

"I didn't want to keep you long, Munk," Jelly was saying. "But I wanted to know if you had any information on the queens. Things that couldn't be discussed in the meeting?"

"I do. But before we talk about that, I just wanted to ask _you_ something."

"Hm?"

She looked at him expectantly and he got straight to the point. "What did you make of the scratches on my son?"

She answered, somewhat hurriedly. "They were as Demeter described them. Probably just made by another kitten. Not serious. Why?"

His brow furrowed for a moment, but then he shook his head. "No reason. I just wanted an update. I would have asked Demi myself, but of course, she's not here."

"She's with her humans," she told him. "Couldn't get a 'sitter. Plus, the poor thing doesn't like to go out on her own at night."

He nodded. "That's what I thought. I would pay her a visit, but I'm awfully busy. I don't think I'll have the time."

"Same with me. I would visit too, if I didn't have to work." She sighed sadly. "I'm sure she'll do without company for one night."

Jenny looked up from her sewing. "Bombi told me she'd be popping over to see her."

"Oh, that's good of her." Jelly sounded greatly relieved, and was about to say more, when Munkustrap cleared his throat.

"If we could make this quick? I have somewhere to be at twenty past..."

"Yes, Munk, of course, I do apologise!" Jelly laughed ruefully, then went blank. "What did I want to ask you again?"

"Must've been important," he muttered under his breath.

"Oh yes!" She looked exasperated with herself. "The new queens. Have you spoken to them?"

"Only the one named Jazzie." He wore a slightly guarded expression, which earned him a questioning smirk.

"Oh you _did,_ did you?"

"Yes. What of it?" He said it just a mite too defensively.

"Oh, nothing. It is likely that their time in Macavity's clutches left its mark on them, that's all. Did she seem traumatised to you?"

He looked unsure. "A little, perhaps. I don't know. I wouldn't say she was about to jump in front of a moving vehicle any time soon."

"That is good, but as we know, symptoms of post trauma can occur at any time," Jelly warned. "Whether straight away or… years later."

"I agree we must support them," Jenny concurred. "The poor things must have had an awful time of it."

Munkustrap added grimly, "We've known for a long time that Macavity has been abducting queens and using them for... entertainment purposes. In particular, he seems to covet ones who are beautiful or gifted. However, it was recently suspected that he was also taking kittens, what with the spate of disappearances across London."

"Could humans have been to blame for that?" Jenny asked.

She looked at her sister, but the calico just shrugged, and Munkustrap sighed admittedly, "That was what the newspapers would have you believe, and I certainly hoped that was the prognosis. However, further allegations against Macavity have recently come to light."

"Of?" Jelly probed.

He swallowed, digging his claws into the tough rubber he was sitting on. "Jazzie told me she was pregnant when she was captured. Macavity took her only surviving kitten."

At that, Jelly tutted in sympathy. "I must admit, I did suspect something like that. Any idea where to or why?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. I am trying to get to the bottom of it, but so far I have yet to hear from my contact."

"Did any of the others bare kittens whilst in captivity?" Jenny broached.

"That, I do not know."

Suddenly, the Gumbie Cat looked concerned. "Is everything alright, dear?"

He massaged his forehead, momentarily forgetting it was sore. "Yeah. Just tired."

"Have you eaten?"

"Er... I will."

She spoke gently as though he were a kitten with a volatile temper. "And what about your… you know…" She mouthed the next word... "Meds? Did you remember to take them?"

"Yes, I took them." He hated being treated like this, and she knew it!

"You know it's our job to remind you?"

He chuckled dryly. "I know. You're like a couple of mother hens."

"Well, who else is going to take care of you, eh? You're practically ours. I delivered you, remember?"

"I've managed quite well so far-" He started to argue, but Jelly spoke up.

"...He's going to have to return the favour if we end up dropping these kits at the same time, isn't that right Jenny?" She winked to show she was only joking, and Munkustrap naturally played along.

"What? Me deliver your kittens? That would be disastrous. The new midwife should see to it."

"I don't know what you're so worried about," Jenny innocently remarked, threading a new piece of cotton onto her needle. "Some of them _are_ yours, you know."

"Yeah, SOME of them." He laughed sarcastically. "We don't know which ones though, do we?"

"Oh, come on! I think it'll be fun trying to figure out whose is whose," Jenny breezily defended. "That's the most exciting part for me."

"Yeah, I know, you bloody slag!" Jelly expressed with mock contempt, giving her sister a playful dig in the ribs. "Munk, you can be rest assured both of mine are yours."

"I hardly need assuring. They'll be loved whomever they belong to."

In reality the silver tom was only half paying attention, seeing as he wasn't exactly riveted by the subject of pregnancy, and yet that was all these two ever seemed to go on about! Oh, and who had recently popped their collars. Walking obituaries, the pair of them!

"...And anyway, Munk," Jenny carried on, a little too casually. "I don't think you'd fare too badly if you ever _did_ decide to change careers. After all, you managed with Misto and Vicky on your own ok, didn't you?"

He looked at her suspiciously, noting her blithe manner. "No, I didn't manage ok, at all. In case you've forgotten, their mother died."

"Yes..." She went back to her stitching. "Such a sad story. When _are_ you planning on telling them?"

It took all of his conscious effort not to cringe. He should have seen where this was going. "I will at some point," he mumbled, not making eye contact with either of them, which of course, immediately activated Jellylorum's innate bullshit detector.

"And we all know what 'at some point' means DON'T we, Mister?"

His tail flicked with annoyance. What was this? National Bring Up The Past Day? "Yes. It means 'at some point' which means not right now!"

"Why not, Munk?" She demanded. "You realise they've started asking us, and of course, we have nothing to tell them, because you haven't told us anything. Surely they have a right to know?"

He shook his head firmly. "Now is not the right time."

"Then, could you at least tell _us_ who she was?"

"No, because you'll tell them." He gritted his teeth, realising he would rather have been facing an army of bloodthirsty pollicles than sitting there at that moment. Jelly had that look in her eye. The knowing one she used when she sensed she wasn't being told the whole truth.

"Was she that bad?"

"I'm not saying anything, Jelly! This discussion is over!" He injected just enough aggression into his voice without raising it, and that told her it was time to back down.

"Of course. As their father, it is your decision to make," she said, with a disapproving scowl that told him he had BETTER tell them soon, or this discussion would definitely NOT be over!

"And as their father, I wouldn't make it if it wasn't in their best interests!" He was seriously done with this lecture now. When could he leave?

"I don't doubt that." Was she still talking? "But I think everyone deserves to know where they came from. The truth is the truth, Munk. It's not yours to hold onto, and it's up to them to decide what they do with it."

"Yes, well," he grumbled. "As much as I'd love to sit here discussing what _you_ think is best for _my_ son and daughter, I have things to do."

"Yeah, we'd best be getting back too, I suppose," Jenny agreed, completely immune to the dour expression on Munkustrap's face.

"I'm heading your way." _Unfortunately,_ he didn't add.

"Oh?" Jelly archly exclaimed. "Got an appointment with the new Doctor, _have_ you?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," he responded, giving her a smug wink.


	13. An Unexpected Patient

The alarm clock sounded at five o'clock in the evening.

Groping blindly, Jazzie reached over. She fumbled for the release button. The damn thing kept trilling, so she threw it across the room, where it continued to rattle and ring, until she moodily got up and figured out how to turn it off, seeing as no one else was going to! "Girls! Time to get up!" She grumbled.

"Mrrr!" Groaned Lucitana. "It's too early!" But then got the covers pulled off her by Hortenseya.

"On the contrary, we're going to be late if you don't get your lazy backside out of bed!" She told her. "Now come on. It's our first day."

After a quick wash and brush up, the queens shared out the last of the meat for breakfast and then hurried on up to the office. There to greet them were Sister Jellylorum and Matron Jennyanydots, looking as though they'd already been up for hours. "Evening, girls," Jelly greeted briskly. "All ready and raring to go I see. Which is good. We have a busy night ahead of us."

Each queen was given her own bag of equipment, uniform and name badge, Jazzie's garb marking her out as a doctor by being a simple white shirt dress, rather than a blue Newcastle dress, with a dark blue belt. Next, there were a number of forms to fill out, then a quick breakdown of patients within the 200 bed premises and what to expect. They got to meet the small team of student nurses and volunteers who carried out all the menial tasks, and then finally, were handed pagers and sent to work in different areas of the Infirmary. Lucitana and Norstara were to assist in the Labour Ward out the back, Hortenseya to deal with accident and emergency cases and Jazzie was sent to the General Practice on the ground floor.

Jenny led her through the busy waiting area and into a small consultation room, explaining and articulating as she went. "This will be your surgery, until you get used to things." And showed the young queen around the room, with its chequered linoleum floor and white-washed walls, pointing out where everything was, even though it was pretty obvious really, since the area was quite small and simple in its layout, and had everything Jazzie needed, including an examination table, a sink, a bureau and a formica counter, upon which was a sphygmomanometer and an array of other clinical equipment. "Here is your stethoscope, dear," the Matron said, hooking the instrument over Jazzie's neck. "Be sure to keep that on you." Then she looked curious. "Out of interest, do you have any other skills?"

The Snowshoe replied readily, "I've always been passionate about surgery. I always dreamed of being one, but... I ended up practicing internal medicine instead."

Jenny was intrigued. "Have you actually done any surgery?"

"My mother is a very fine surgeon. I studied under her guidance for two years at the Pitié-Salpêtrière and then for a year at the University College London. Then, whilst in captivity I had to do all manner of things. I removed glass from a patient's foot, closed a hole in a tom's abdominal cavity, set broken bones and such. I even performed several cesareans."

"So, you've had some practice, but no documented credentials or anything?"

"My mother has them. I can ask her to send them if you like?"

"Yes, if you could, as soon as you can. Then we shall see about the surgery." The Matron looked thoughtful. "A surgeon is something we definitely need. A lot of the time we have to send cases to the humans, or if the cat's owner can't afford to pay…" she trailed off sadly. "We used to have a surgeon in actual fact. My own mum, bless her dear soul. She was actually a witch, but had a passion for dentistry and did surgery on the side as well. We have plenty of books in the library, if you ever wanted to read them?"

Jazzie nodded. "Thank you. I will be sure to. I was also wondering if I could continue to study in my room?"

"Of course. You must do whatever you can to improve your skills. Whatever works for you, dear." The Gumbie Cat checked her fob watch and quickly apologised. "I'm so sorry to leave you on your own, but I have some important things I must attend to before the meeting. If you have any problems, don't hesitate to contact me on my beeper, ok hunny?"

Jazzie smiled nervously. "Yes, I will. Thank you, Jenny."

"Best of luck." Smiling back, the Gumbie Cat bumbled out, leaving Jazzie to face the music alone.

Astounded by how many cats were queueing up waiting to be seen, and feeling like she had been thrown in at the deep end of a very large pool, the Snowshoe swallowed her nerves, walked to the door and called her first patient. "Tantomile? If you'd like to come through?"

A pair of Oriental Torbies, who had been sitting patiently, followed her, walking in such complete unison that it was almost creepy. Even their tails moved at the same time, with the level of grace that made a pair of swans on a lake look clumsy by comparison.

"Please, take a seat." Jazzie indicated the chairs in front of her desk, feeling a little awestruck by the elegance of the two felines, with their short, silvery coats, chocolate patches and hatchings of dark mackerel stripes. "So? What seems to be the problem?" She asked, once they were seated.

"Her aura is out of kilter," Coricopat answered in a slightly vague tone of voice, turning his regal head to look at his identical twin.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" Jazzie was quite certain that they hadn't taught her about auras at the Pitié-Salpêtrière.

"Well, a lot of the colours that surround us are invisible to me, of course," Coricopat explained, as if this would make it any clearer. "I sense them more than see them, and with Tanti, I have detected a definite change."

"Yes?" Jazzie was listening attentively.

"A bright silver suddenly appeared around her," he recalled. "I have never seen such a turbulent shade before. It dances with an energy I cannot describe. I am worried."

"I see." Jazzie looked into Tantomile's large green eyes for her input. "Do you feel any different? Unwell at all?"

"I have not been myself," the darkly beautiful queen answered, in a voice that was as wispy sounding as her brother's. "I get strange visions. And I felt most peculiar this morning."

"Can you describe these symptoms in any more detail, and also tell me how long you've had them for?"

"They started yesterday," she remembered. "I've been really off my food, I don't know if I ate something dodgy."

"Any nausea or vomiting?"

Tanti nodded. "Yes. This morning."

"I told you you shouldn't have eaten that fish," Coricopat interjected. "Didn't I tell you it was a bad idea?"

Tantomile shot him a steely glare. "I couldn't stomach anything else, Cori. I had to eat something!"

"Um… ok." Jazzie opened her desk drawer and pulled out a small plastic pot. "Tantomile? Could I get a sample from you, please?"

When she received an incredulous look as a form of reply, she patiently explained, "I need to test your urine, just to rule anything out. Please. Le toilets are through there." She pointed in that general direction, then she and Coricopat waited in uneasy silence for her to come back.

To keep herself busy, Jazzie started to write up some notes, until Tantomile returned a short while later with a full pot. "Lovely, thank you," said Jazzie, taking it from her. "Please sit down. I won't be a moment."

Standing by the sink, she tested the urine with a strip of paper and waited for another few minutes. The silence was deafening, so she hummed to herself as she carried out the task. Then, she turned around with a bright smile and showed them the result. "Tantomile?" She declared. "I think I have found the problem. Congratulations! You are pregnant!"

"I'm- what?!"

Tantomile looked so shocked that Jazzie feared she was about to cry and so quickly offered her a box of tissues. "If I may ask, when was the last time you had contact with a tom?"

Tantomile took one of the tissues, but looked confused by the question, so Jazzie clarified.

"When did you last have sex?"

The queen dabbed at her eyes, looking very uncomfortable. "It was... a week ago. Eight days... maybe."

"It's ok," Jazzie said kindly. "I am not here to judge you. I just want to figure out how far along you are so we know when to expect your babies. I won't disclose your information to anyone, that is completely confidential, so you two can be totally honest with me."

She turned to Coricopat, who's eyes immediately widened, realising what she was assuming. "Oh no! No! I'm not the father. I'm her brother!"

Jazzie laughed ruefully. "Oh, sorry! I should have guessed that. I just didn't want to presume, you know?" She turned back to Tantomile. "Well, judging by that, I would say we should expect your babies around August time." She picked up the sphygmomanometer. "Now, I just need to check your blood pressure, if I may?"

"I cannot believe it..." Tantomile sniffed between delicate sobs, holding out her arm so that the Snowshoe could wrap the band around it. "I wanted kittens for so long... didn't think it would happen..."

Jazzie smiled, seeing that the tears were happy ones. "I'm sure you'll make a wonderful mother. I am also pleased to inform you that your blood pressure is normal. So, if there are no more problems, I will transfer your care to my associate who deals in midwifery." She gave a subtle hint that they were free to go. "She'll give you information, kitten packs and everything else you need, ok?"

After they left, Jazzie saw eight more patients, and then had a short interim before her next, and so quickly set about tidying up. However, it was whilst washing her paws that she heard someone come in. _Funny,_ she thought. _I didn't call anyone._ "I'll be right with you," she said without turning around. "What seems to be the problem?"

"It's very serious. I might die."

She quickly turned, and her face broke into a wide smile to see the silver Maine Coon casually sitting in one of the patient chairs. "It's you!"

"Is now a bad time?"

She felt her skin do some very strange things. It crawled and tingled as though it had suddenly come to life, and the butterflies in her stomach appeared to have returned and her tongue to have lost connection with her brain. "No, not at all. Actually, yes. No. How is your head?"

He gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's fine."

"Let's take a look then, shall we?" Ignoring the not altogether unpleasant feelings, she put on her specs and carefully tilted his head towards her. The trouble was, all she could think about was how soft his fur was and how incredibly stunning he was this up close. "All seems fine, no swelling," she murmured as she peered closely. "Any bleeding or pain?"

"It's sore, but nothing I can't deal with." The touch of her gloved fingers set his pulse racing. He hoped she couldn't hear it.

"It seems to be healing well," she said, sitting back down and opening up her register. "You can make an appointment to have the stitches taken out as early as tomorrow."

"I'll probably take them out myself," he declined dismissively, which caused her eyes to widen in dismay.

"Oh no! I wouldn't recommend that-!"

"I've done it loads of times," he confessed with a guilty smirk. "Sends Jenny bonkers. Although, for you, I might make an exception."

She looked at him in disbelief for a moment. Then she shook her head and laughed. "Ok then, Monsieur. If there's nothing wrong with your head and you're not sick, why are you here?"

_She's doing it again,_ he thought. "I came here to give you this." He handed her the invitation, whilst also covertly pulling his tail away from her and kicking the damned thing behind him.

"Oh. Thank you," she said as she took it, her own tail curling itself discreetly around her ankle.

"And these are for the others." He held them out awkwardly. "I take it they're busy?"

"Yes, I'll make sure they get them," she promised, placing them on her desk. "Was there anything else?" She didn't want to seem rude, but she suddenly became aware of the time, the number of patients she still had to see and the ward visits she needed to carry out on top of it all.

"Actually, yes." He knew she was busy, but he just had to ask her this one thing. Why had his mouth gone dry all of a sudden? "I was wondering if... maybe, you might like to… er... go and have something to eat… with me?"

She stared at him, not sure if she'd heard him correctly. "Go and have something to eat… with you? Now?"

"Would now be convenient?" He had a million and one things to do, but he'd happily drop every last one of them just to spend some time with her.

She grimaced. "Not really. I have six more patients to see."

"Of course, that's what I thought." He smiled, showing it was fine, but she did notice his tail droop slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she really did mean it.

"It's fine. I have training anyway." He chuckled. "I was trying to find an excuse to get out of it."

She chuckled back, feeling her heart sink. "I might be free tomorrow," she offered. "My shift ends at around 3 o'clock. I can meet you after then, if you like?"

He looked concerned. "You'll be exhausted."

"I'll probably be fine to meet you for a short while," she said sheepishly, knowing she was being optimistic.

"You'll be here, will you?"

"In the office, probably." All of a sudden her pager started beeping. "I'm sorry I'm going to have to take this," she said, looking at the message.

"I'll leave you to it, then."

"Bye." She offered him a quick smile as he left, then picked up the telephone and dialled. "Hello? Dr Jazzie here. I've just received your message, how can I help?" She listened carefully. "Oh. Hi Tensey." Her brow furrowed. "Mhm. Yup. Could you tell me what his symptoms are?" She took out a pen and paper and started to scribble notes down. "Breathing difficulties, loss of weight and appetite… diarrhoea, yep. Fluid in the abdomen... Right. Ok, I'll be right over."

The rest of Jazzie's day passed in a blur. So many patients. So many different cases. There was a young tom suffering from a serious viral infection that meant he had to be kept isolated, a queen with Cystitis who needed antibiotics, a gentleman who had accidentally swallowed a door key (goodness only knows how. Jazzie didn't like to ask) and one cat who had to be admitted to the ward with a severe heart condition.

By the time she had seen her final patient, it was two o'clock and she was utterly exhausted, just as Munkustrap predicted she would be; but she was buzzing at the same time. The night had been stressful, but exhilarating, and she'd met so many lovely people.

Going back to the office to write up a few blood charts, she stopped dead in the entrance, staring with a sense of foundering despair at the chaos. At the towering piles of unfinished write-ups and patient notes and the distinct lack of space. _I cannot work like this,_ she thought.

* * *

Munkustrap left the consultation room feeling as though he were walking on cloud nine, but then was brought sharply back to earth when he heard his title being called.

"Protector?"

He turned to see the Witch's Twins hurrying towards him in a way that only they tended to, taking long graceful steps and making snails seem fast. But he received an even bigger surprise when they eventually reached him. Without warning, Tantomile broke tradition with her usual prim demeanor and with a smile that contrasted strikingly with her dark features, threw her arms around him, and before he could ask what was going on, she covered his lips with a deep kiss.

He couldn't exactly complain. But it was a bit awkward, what with her brother standing there and other patients looking around to see what was going on. "I have something to tell you," she whispered excitedly, once she'd released him.

He smirked. "You finally figured out French kissing?"

"Not just that," she replied, her almond eyes shining. "Can we get a private room?"

His eyebrows lifted. "What? Now? I'm a little... um... tied up at the moment…"

Ignoring his nonplussed expression, she placed his paw on her belly. "There is life in here," she blurted out. "The seed you set has taken root and is growing!"

"What? You're-?" His eyes widened further as he figured out what she was saying, mindful of that funny little quirk of using riddles that she and her twin sometimes adopted, but kept his overall response characteristically restrained. It wasn't that he didn't feel happy for her, he just couldn't get excited for himself. "Right. I see. That's er… wonderful news. Do you know how many, or…?"

She shook her head, his stoicism a trait that she was fully habituated with, and if anything, made her feel even more ecstatic. "Not yet. I'm about to make an appointment with the midwife, so I won't know until I see her. I'm so happy!"

He gave a dampened smile, expressing appreciation of her feelings with his eyes only. "As am I. I'm surprised it happened so quickly."

She gave a nod of agreement. "Me too. I mean, it's only been a week or so since we... you know." Her tail curled with embarrassment and she added meekishly, "It is a shame we can't do it anymore."

At that, he took her paw and grasped it regretfully, wanting to tell her how much he had enjoyed his time with her also, but decided it wouldn't be appropriate at that particular moment, since there were people still watching. "But you'll be alright to dance at the ball though?"

She didn't look too sure. "I _should_ be. But I'll check with the midwife to be on the safe side. Victoria is in with her at the moment."

He nodded and let go of her paw in order to shake Coricopat's, in a manner that was still friendly, but more businesslike. After all, toms were much less emotional about these sorts of things. "Congratulations to you both. I can't wait to meet them."

"Thank you," answered Cori, his expression equally reserved. "My sister and I have wanted to be parents for so long. And now, thanks to you, we will be."

"Well, you know the pleasure was all mine really," Munkustrap modestly acknowledged, at which Cori chuckled.

"You're going to be a grandfather at the same time, aren't you?"

All of a sudden, Munkustrap looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Er, yes. Anyway, I have to go and… er…"

"And here she appears! The fruitful blossom herself!" Tanti suddenly cried, and the group turned as one to see a snow white queen quietly approaching them.

Seeing her father, she smiled radiantly and gracefully skipped forwards, greeting him with an affectionate nuzzle, which he lovingly returned.

"Congratulations, Sweetheart." He motioned with his paws: "How many?"

Shyly, she held up four digits.

"Four?!" He shook his head, completely bowled over. He'd heard rumours that his eldest daughter was expecting, but though it had now been confirmed, the news had still yet to fully sink in.

She and Plato had certainly taken their time over it. Why? He wasn't exactly sure; especially when remembering the Ball of last year, which had been Victoria's first as an adult.

She had been courted by many males over the course of that night, and had eventually chosen Plato to be her mate. And, of course, Munkustrap had felt what most fathers would feel in that situation. On the one hand, all he could think about was holding a tiny white fluffball in his arms and being her sole protector. How he had vowed to take care of her when it was found that she was deaf, teaching himself sign language so that he could communicate with her, and had even taught her and her brother how to dance, so that they would do him proud and go on to become two of the finest dancers in the whole tribe. And now Plato was stealing her from him, and taking her purity to boot!

But on the other hand, he had to play the part of the supportive father. He had to put his own selfish emotions aside and accept that nature would have her remorseless way, and there was nothing he could do about it. And so it was with mixed emotions that he had stood back and watched his little girl become a full queen, and now the result was here in front of his eyes, looking more beautiful and happy than he'd ever seen before. But to his consternation, Victoria's smile began to fall away.

"What's wrong?" He asked, going back into protective dad mode at the thought that something had dared to upset his precious angel, because that's what she still was and what she would always be in his eyes.

Pouting, she signed dejectedly, _"It's not fair! I wanted twenty five!"_

"Ooooh." He chuckled, instantly relaxing, and replied back, "Honey, four is plenty. You wouldn't want twenty five on your paws, I can assure you. What does Plato think?"

She shrugged and waved a paw, which pretty much meant: _"He said what you said."_

"That's because Dads are always right," he replied, agreeing wholeheartedly with his subordinate.

"And you're young," Tantomile added, signing perfectly. "You can always have more."

While Victoria thought about that, Munkustrap asked the question, "Have you told your brother?"

She immediately shook her head and waggled her finger, then mimed zipping her mouth shut, which made him chuckle even more.

"Alright, I won't tell him if you want it to be a surprise. Your secret is safe with me."

"I'm going to tell him later," she gestured, her powder blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "He's going to be so cross that I beat him to it!"

"Haha! I'm sure he'll be just as happy as I am." He gazed at her in adoration, knowing he was going to have to tell her the awful truth about her mother sooner or later... but not right now. Not when she looked so blissfully untroubled and was already skipping off to tell all of her relatives. "Bye... Dad," she said with difficulty, and made a heart sign with her paws, which he copied, something he only ever did with her.

"Take care, Angel."

Coricopat, who, until that moment, had been standing by as an idle observer, casually let out a polite cough. "Right then. Are you ready for training, Grandpa?" He joked, after Tantomile also bid them farewell and disappeared towards the maternity wing.

Munkustrap growled as they made their way outside. "You can't call me that yet!"

The Oriental laughed. "I can when they're born!"

"Yeah, just you wait," the Maine Coon grumbled. "You'll be old, and then I'll laugh."

They arrived at the tyre clearing and joined a small group of mature males in their warm up, something they were used to doing as part of their daily training. Making up the group were the likes of Alonzo, Plato, George, Admetus and Coricopat, and young toms Tumblebrutus, Carbucketty and Pouncival who had recently joined the ranks. Admittedly, it was a rather masculine affair. However, the odd queen did join them occasionally, including Jellylorum and Bombalurina a few times a week, but Bombi was working on this particular night and Jellylorum had had to postpone her training, for obvious reasons.

Being a Saturday, it was a bit more relaxed, and the team got to choose what to practice. Which was a relief, since, for Jellicles, training was a pretty grueling affair, especially for Protectors and Guardians, who had to fit their dance practice in with their fight training schedules.

"Evening, Munkus. Cori?" Greeted their instructor, an odd looking charcoal coloured Jellicle with a capital 'R' emblazoned on the front of his white chest. "No sign of Tugger today?"

"Is there ever?" Munkustrap muttered as he and Cori got on with their skipping, seeing who could jump the fastest.

"He _should_ be here, though, shouldn't he?" Looking disgruntled, Cori checked several times, whilst attempting some fancy rope work, but couldn't see Munkustrap's brother anywhere. Then got smacked in the face with his rope.

"'Should' being the operative reason why he is _not,"_ responded the other, hiding a smirk that his friend's misfortune.

"But he hasn't turned up for the last five sessions!" Cori complained, rubbing his cheek. "The last time he did, he spent the entire time checking his reflection in a mirror. And when you offered to spar with him, he said it would mess his hair up."

At that, a few of the other toms quietly sniggered. It was a kind of 'in joke' they all had, with each secretly betting on who would win, since no one had ever seen Munkustrap and Rum Tum tugger engage in any serious sparring. Tugger would always find an excuse to get out of it, which didn't gain him much respect from the older toms.

"Anyone would think he was too scared to spar with you, Munkus!" Rumpus remarked, with more than a little contempt.

"Ah, whatever." His friend quickly brushed off the comment, since he had no mind to partake in any badmouthing of his brother, no matter how infuriating he could be. "It's his funeral. Although, speaking of which, what are you doing to Pounce?"

Rumpus was engaged in a small scale battle between himself and the overenthusiastic young tom, and appeared to be winning easily. Everytime the patched tabby threw a swipe, Rumpus simply batted him off as though he were nothing more than an irritating fly.

"Young Pounce here seems to think he would beat me in a fair fight," he explained. "So, I thought I would put him through his paces." He smiled, flashing them the most unsettling gaze. To a human, his pupils were blood red, glowing out of protruding, oil-slick eyes. But to cats, the pale gold glow was no less disturbing... until they took in the rest of him and may have felt the urge to laugh.

Apart from a disheveled mop on the top of his angular head, the rest of his lean, well muscled body was completely bereft of hair.

Regardless of his odd appearance, Rumpus Cat was a well respected friend, and had been training protectors for as long as anyone could remember. Though, because his wrinkled skin made him look permanently old, it was impossible to tell how old he _really_ was.

"What would you like to practice this evening?" He asked, still deflecting Pounce's best moves, no matter what the young tom tried. He couldn't even get within a whiskers length!

Beginning to get hot and bothered, he gave one final swipe to the hairless tom's midsection and found his arm locked out.

"I was thinking about doing grapples," Munkustrap was suggesting, whilst carrying out a series of quad stretches.

Pounce yelped.

"You know my stance on grapples?" Rumpus reminded him with a look of disapproval, and Munkustrap looked slightly sheepish.

"Yeah… I managed to get myself stuck in one."

"Well then, let's get to it." Rumpus spoke to the whimpering young tom. "Do you wish to tap out, sonny?"

Pounce gritted his teeth, trying to look fierce. "No!"

"How about now?"

The tom shrieked. "Yes yes!"

"Yes, what?"

"YesIwanttotapout!"

"Right." The charcoal tom let him go and raised his voice for all to hear, and the others made sure to stop and listen. "Remember. If you _think_ you know how to fight, you do not _know_ how to fight! Watch out for the age old enemy! The one that will blindside you on a bright sunny morning, or come at you in the dead of night, but ALWAYS when you least expect!" He looked knowingly at Pouncival. "What do you think it might be?"

The young tom had a quick think. "Um… complacency?"

Rumpus smiled in an almost fatherly way and ruffled his fur. "Very good. Keep practicing." He flashed Munkustrap a wink. "Reminds me of the whippersnapper you once were."

Munkustrap smiled. "Much has changed."

"Aye. Instead of being a reedy whippersnapper, you're now a big whippersnapper. Let's see about these grapples, shall we? Show me what happened. Do it on me."

"Well... he had me sort of like this..." Munkustrap clasped his paws around the back of the shorter tom's semi-bald head, in a vague rendition of how he thought he had been grappled, although it was kind of hard to remember exactly how it had been done.

"Was he a big chap?"

"Yeah. Really strong. It was like he was made of iron or something. He almost did me in."

"I'm not surprised if you were foolhardy enough to get yourself into this position, what is known as the Plum Clinch," Rumpus commented. "What did you try to do?"

"I tried to get my arms around."

"Show me. Wait. I'll do it on you."

Munkustrap allowed Rumpus to put him in the very same clinch and then showed him his failed attempt at trying to escape it.

"And let me guess. He did this?" Rumpus cat (lightly) kneed Munkustrap in the groin and swept his feet out.

"Yep. Pretty much." Munkustrap hid a wince as he was dumped into the floor. "Except he threw me a bit further." He ignored the sniggers coming from the other members of the group. It may have been only a light tap, but it still stung!

Meanwhile, Rumpus was thinking. "So, what you _could_ have done… stand up a minute…"

Munkustrap did so and allowed Rumpus to lock his paws around his head again. Grudgingly, because it was a very claustrophobic position to be in!

... "Is, rather than trying to struggle free… accept that you're never going to do that, this lock is far too strong... What you need to do is try to get your _arms_ on the _inside._ That's the more dominant position."

"How do I do that?" Rumpus had him locked so tight that Munkustrap couldn't see a way to squeeze his arm in anywhere!

"Your legs need to be about a hips width apart. Not too far, not too close, with your knees slightly bent." Rumpus warned him, "It's going to get intimate. He's going to want to get in close, but you've got to keep your distance as much as you can, so that he can't knee you. You've got to keep your wits on everything... be aware of where your opponent is at all times. Where his arms are, where his legs are. Very important. Now. Put one paw on my arm, the other on the back of my head. Not my neck! My head."

Munkustrap diligently followed his trainer's instructions, more than used to acting as a dummy for demonstration purposes, and the others had to observe very carefully, knowing it would shortly be their turn.

"Now push through with that same side shoulder. Use that for a bit of leverage, so you can feed your arm through."

Munkustrap tried, and indeed, found himself a gap just big enough.

"That's it," Rumpus encouraged, even as he now had an arm jabbing painfully into his face. "Use one of your knees to give me a slight bump on the thigh… right in that pressure point... then step into me. Now pull down on my head... and turn!"

Munkustrap did so and pitched his instructor onto the floor. It was easier than he'd thought!

"Good." Rumpus commended, getting straight back up again. "How did you find that?

He received a nod from the long-suffering mentee. "It was nearly effortless."

"Exactly! It doesn't matter how strong or big your opponent is. The trick is to get the upper hand using the minimum effort. If you try to struggle, you will waste time and energy, and fundamentally, end up knackering yourself out." Satisfied that his student was getting the hang of it, Rumpus clapped his paws. "So, let's go through that a few more times before we move on!"

And of course, they all knew what he meant:

"Don't practice until you get it right. Practice until you can't get it wrong."

It was a phrase he used regularly, which meant they were going to be practicing more than just a few!

* * *

**A quick note on time scales.**

_As I highlighted in the last chapter, cats work on a slightly different time frame to humans. Known as Cat Time, it tends to speed up or slow down depending on what age they are at, but generally it goes a lot slower, especially since they don't live half as long. (Average life expectancy is about 15 years, equivalent to 76 in cat terms.)_

_I have stuck to using human years for the most part because it's easier to understand. However, I am aware it takes a lot longer than 4 years to become a fully qualified doctor. When Jazzie says she studied for two years, what she actually means is approximately 10 cat years. It's kind of complicated and I don't do math, but all in all she has been studying medicine for almost 20-years. Cat years, that is!_


	14. Magician In Progress

Quaxo Mistoffelees' den looked very similar to Munkustrap's, except that it was much smaller and on two levels. The top floor was his living quarters, while the ground floor was set aside for his experiments; and judging by the dark marks on the ceiling, they tended to get quite explosive.

In actual fact, he had recently finished one such experiment, and was in the middle of trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, when he heard someone rap sharply on the door. The style of knock was one that was particularly curt, and so he didn't need to guess who the visitor was. "Come in!" He coughed, attempting to beat sulphurous fumes away from his face with his paws. "The door's open!"

As the smoke cleared, the black tuxedo Angora removed his protective goggles and beheld the cat, who was considerably larger in stature than himself, staggering in through the door, and rolled his eyes. "Hi Dad. How was training?"

"Yeah... good," panted the other, sounding chipper and not in any way bothered by the smoke. "Bast almighty, Quaxo! Have you been cooking again? It smells like a pair of Tugger's cowboy boots after a successful two day pub crawl!"

"No, just a minor hiccup," Quaxo replied as he hung up his apron, deciding to conclude his studies for today.

"Really?" The silver Maine coon squinted at him incredulously. "You ought to do something about that."

"I'm in the middle of some very important research," Quaxo answered primly, as he went to open a window, not taking kindly to the insult about his cooking. He wasn't a bad cook! Just a magician in progress! "And anyway, how would you know what my uncle's boots smell like?"

Munkustrap answered in a bored tone of voice, "Oh, I would regale you with tales of alcohol infused vomit and having to drag a stupified Maine Coon home on one's back, but I'm quite sure it wouldn't interest you." As he said that, he sat down heavily in a chair next to a table and began to select various beakers of brightly coloured liquids that happened to be set upon it, giving each one a tentative sniff.

Quaxo started to chuckle, "You sound like that's what you've just done- Hey! Don't touch those!"

Munkustrap ignored him and carried on. "Yeah, that's another story of how Sadist Cat Rumpus likes to use me for demonstrations. Today, he was teaching us nonces how to avoid grapples by repeatedly dumping me on my backside. I can show you what he did, if you like?"

Quaxo crossed his arms over his dapper looking jacket, which matched his black fur superbly and glittered with many sewn-on mother of pearl buttons. However, it rather contrasted with his annoyed frown. "No thanks. Please, put those down!"

"Oh! You're no fun!" The Maine Coon complained, finally leaving the beakers alone. "And you never let me near any of your decent drugs."

"They're not drugs!" Quaxo snapped. "Some of those liquids are highly toxic! And besides, where's Alonzo for that sort of thing?"

"Your older brother doesn't take kindly to being put on his arse either, apparently," Munkustrap stated, with an air of innocence that indicated he had done just that in their sparring session.

"I hope you weren't too harsh with him. I know what you're like when you get carried away."

"I couldn't help it! Little bastard got me right here!" Munkustrap pointed to a very small bruise on his chin. "Anyway, what convoluted excuse do you have for not being there?"

Quaxo gave a disdainful sniff. "I was busy not getting myself punched in the face. Plus, you know I prefer to practice my dancing. Fighting is just so... brutish."

Munkustrap snorted. "How would you know? I don't think I've ever seen you swing a punch."

"I have eyes and ears!" Quaxo retorted. "It just doesn't appeal to me, ok!"

His father mockingly held up his paws. "Fair enough, son, fair enough. If frilly tutus are more your thing, who am I to argue?"

Quaxo gave him a look. "If I am a tutu wearer, what does that make the tom who taught me how to dance?"

"I can categorically say I have never worn a tutu," Munkustrap replied loftily. "Therefore, I am not to blame for your limp-wristed ways."

"Huh! I've seen you in all sorts of girly outfits! What about those harem pants with all that jangly stuff on!"

"Why?" Munkustrap grinned. "Do you like them?"

"No!"

Munkustrap scoffed. "Yeah, you do! I'd be happy to lend them to you, except Alonzo's got them at the moment. Speaking of which," he suddenly remembered. "I really must ask for them back…"

Quaxo sighed in frustration. This digging about his personality was getting old. Very old! He knew he would never be the able fighter that his father was and wished him to be, but he had found his own niche. Why couldn't his father just accept that and be proud of him? "Damn it, Dad! Are you here to rip it out of me or some other reason?"

"Well, since you asked, I am actually here for a number of reasons and it is not just to mock you." Munkustrap's aqua and gold eyes glinted. "Although I can't deny that is part of the fun."

Quaxo scowled and blue energy crackled around his clenched paws. His dad could be such an asshole sometimes!

"Quaxo."

"What!"

Munkustrap's countenance suddenly changed. Although still vaguely amused, it was no longer mocking. "Oh, come now. Don't get yourself in a tiz."

"I'm not in a tiz!"

Munkustrap nodded in agreement. "You're absolutely right. 'Overly sensitive' would be more accurate."

Quaxo remained moodily silent.

"Look, you can go and have your angsty little sulk later, but right now, I still need some things from you."

As predicted, he was met with a sullen reply. "What things?"

"Well firstly, son…" and Munkustrap was now very serious, since this really was no laughing matter at all. "You need to learn how to take a joke."

"What do you mean, take a joke?!"

Munkustrap raised an eyebrow. "Do I need to explain what a joke is to a supposed genius?"

"I know what a joke is! They're meant to be funny and if what you just said about me was a joke, I'd have laughed!"

At that, Munkustrap chuckled mirthlessly. "Maybe that's the problem. You need to learn to laugh at yourself more."

"Grr!"

He continued before Quaxo could utter anything other than an angry growl, otherwise they would carry on going back and forth like this for another half an hour. "The second thing I need is a duplicate of Black Pill. Same bottle and everything, just without the active ingredient."

"Why should I do anything for you?" Quaxo huffed.

"Because l'm your father and until you have your second ball, you're not technically an adult, which means you do as I say."

Quaxo knew he was right, but that didn't stop him from calling him a few more choice names under his breath, before sourly mumbling, "The pills I can get started on. What do you need them for?"

"A couple of ruffians have been sniffing about. I thought I'd keep them busy by making them feel important."

"Care to elaborate?"

"I caught Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer spying on me. I suspect they saw me taking the pills."

"I see." Quaxo's mood lightened a little. He couldn't stay mad at his dad for long, especially when the opportunity to fleece him suddenly arose. "So, you want me to make you an exact copy of the medication, just slightly different in order to throw their boss off the scent?"

"Correct. If he is suffering as I am, then he'll be very interested in what I am taking to alleviate symptoms, and possibly interested in taking you as well."

Quaxo hid a shudder at that last comment. "Ok. Did you want me to add poison or laxative or anything?"

"Quaxo!" Munkustrap tutted. "You are cruel!"

Seeing his father's expression of mock disapproval, the young tom spread his paws and shrugged. "Just suggesting."

Meanwhile, Munkustrap fiddled with the fur on his chin as he considered the idea. "It is tempting, I must admit. However, he will most likely get the medication tested, so no to the poison. Laxatives shouldn't do him any harm, though. It might even clear a few things up, so to speak."

"Right! I'm on it." Glad that they were back on friendly terms again, Quaxo went to a set of apothecary drawers and started pulling out various herbs and other ingredients. "Oh, and by the way, I now prefer to have payment up front." Ok, so he hadn't forgiven him completely. "Can't have you taking liberties just because you're my father."

Munkustrap didn't look happy about that. "How much?"

"Hmmm. Let's call it eighteen to start with."

"Eighteen quid?" Munkustrap exclaimed. "It was fifteen last time!"

Misto sniffed haughtily. "Compensation for damaged feelings."

"I'll damage something else of yours, I'm telling you that for nothing!"

Munkustrap reached into the utility belt he was wearing and thrust a wad of cash at him, which his son graciously accepted with a: "Thank you so much, Mr. I'm-declaring-myself-destitute-when-actually-I'm-just-a-tight-fisted-old-git." And after counting it all, he rolled up the notes and stuffed them into a top hat on the table, looking very smug indeed.

"I'm not tight-fisted!" His father grumbled. "I just don't enjoy spending money. There's a difference. Next you'll be telling me you charge for information too."

A devious smile suddenly crept across Quaxo's face. "You know, that's not such a bad idea…"

"You're not having any more money!" Munkustrap fumed. "I'm meant to be taking a queen out to dinner later!"

Quaxo stopped grinning and stared at him. "I take it by the way you just said that, you don't mean Demeter?"

"What's it got to do with you! I came here for information, not for a discussion about my private affairs!"

"Sor-_ry!"_ Quaxo muttered, wondering why he'd gotten so touchy all of a sudden. "What was it you wanted to know?"

"A pistol and shooter. Do you know what it is?"

Quaxo looked at him blankly. "Relating to…?"

"I have on good authority that Macavity is making use of a piece of equipment to gather information. Turns out he's figured it was me who took the Doctor."

Meanwhile, his son was scratching his ear, looking puzzled. "What's the thing called again?"

"A pistol and shooter."

Quaxo stared at him. Then burst into fits of laughter. "Who did you get this information from?"

Munkustrap's lips tightened, highly aware that the skilful little brat was making fun of him and wondered how much he'd still be laughing with a set of cauliflower ears. "Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. Why?"

"Alright." Quaxo continued to chuckle, as he began weighing ingredients on a set of brass scales. He honestly couldn't believe what he was hearing, and the annoyed look on his father's face made it even more hilarious.

"What's so funny?"

Finally the young tom got himself under control. "Dad, you're such a dunce! I thought you knew rhyming slang?"

"So did I. But I've never heard of a pistol and shooter."

"Think about it. Shooter rhymes with…?"

"I'll put a fist in your hooter if you keep this up?" Munkustrap's tail flicked angrily. He hated not knowing things, and could tell by the look on his son's face that he planned to take full advantage. And watching the youth fold his arms, he almost knew the statement that was coming next.

"Tell me who my mother was and I will."

Munkustrap kept his expression static, but made a mental note to find out who had been leaking sensitive information and to punish them severely. Perhaps they wouldn't talk so plainly with half their teeth missing! "I'm not playing this game, Quaxo. You have two mothers. Their names are Jennyanydots and Jellylorum..."

"They aren't mine and Vicky's biological mothers, either of them!"

Oh God! How much did he know? "Who told you?"

Quaxo carefully put down his equipment. With a wave of his paw, two cups of tea popped out of thin air and landed gently on the table, and the young tom then took a seat. "They did."

Munkustrap sighed and began rubbing the bridge of his nose. Damn those two hawks and their meddling! "They nursed you and cared for you. They loved and raised you alongside their own. Isn't that enough?"

"I'm not saying I'm not grateful for everything they've done…" Quaxo began, looking guilty.

"Yeah, sure sounds like it…" Munkustrap muttered under his breath, taking a slurp of tea. "When did you find this out?"

"A few days ago."

It all made sense now. Why they had been badgering him. "And what exactly did they tell you?"

"Nothing. They couldn't give me a name or even what she looked like. They just said she died when we were born and only you would be able to tell us who she really was."

Munkustrap gave an inward sigh of relief. That was something, at least.

"So, who was she?" Quaxo pressed. "Was she pretty? Did she love us...?"

"Quaxo-"

"Did _you_ love her? Surely you must have loved her once?"

"Quaxo." Munkustrap held up a paw. "I promise I will answer all of those questions when the time is right…"

Quaxo practically whined, "Why not now?"

"Because you don't have the common sense nor the maturity to deal with the truth, THAT'S why! If you can't even handle a little light mockery, you aren't going to be able to handle this!" Munkustrap didn't mean for it to come out so harshly, but he had to get him to shut up somehow.

Unfortunately, the plan backfired, for Quaxo stared at him with questioning golden eyes, as though hoping to bore the truth out of his very skull. Munkustrap knew exactly what he was trying to do and immediately blanked his mind. "Nice try, son. You're not going to get to the truth that way."

"Arr! Why did you hate her so much?" Quaxo suddenly cried, clawing at his head fur.

"What?" Now it was Munkustrap's turn to look perplexed. Had he not been quick enough?

"You said she was a bitch and that she was better off dead than alive!"

_When did I say that?_ Munkustrap thought hard, trying to remember when he might have spoken so precipitately. Surely he wouldn't have been so careless?

And as though reading his mind, Quaxo informed him, "I overheard you talking to Skimble at the Ball last year. I've got sharp ears you know!"

Meanwhile, Munkustrap was pensively chewing on a claw, something he did whenever he felt himself being backed into a corner and couldn't figure a way to get out of it. "Errr... don't actually remember saying those _exact_ words…"

Quaxo couldn't believe that. "How could you not remember?"

"A lot of things happened last year! How am I supposed to remember that one conversation out of all the other conversations I had?"

"You were watching Vicky dance." The young tom scrutinized him very carefully, trying to gauge whether his father was being deliberately forgetful or not. After all, he learned from the best in terms of subterfuge and secrecy, of the likes that made artful thieves Mungojerry and Rumpleteazer look more akin to a couple of luminous yellow elephants, trying to remain inconspicuous at a panthers' only garden party. And his statement had clearly rung a few bells, since, upon those striped features, there slowly morphed a look of hazy recollection.

"Ah. I _think_ I might remember the conversation you're referring to. A PRIVATE conversation I might add." He gave his son a pointed look, meeting his determined gold eyes with his stern turquoise ones.

"He was commenting on how 'bonny' she looked and made some joke about taking after her mother," Quaxo carried on, his eyes flashing triumphantly. "And you fervently denied it."

_As one would expect,_ Munkustrap thought venomously, not forgetting how close his wiley half brother had come to figuring out the truth. "Because she isn't, personality wise, and that is me saying too much. Like I said, I will tell you when the time is right, but now is not that time. If anything, it is better that you do not know."

"You keep saying that! I think me and Vicky have a right to know!"

"What right?" Munkustrap hissed.

"The right to know where we came from!"

_Damn youth! Why did they never listen to reason?!_ "There is no such thing, Quaxo! I didn't know who my mother was for the best part of my life and it didn't do me any harm. If anything, the trouble started when I found out!"

"Wait. Are you talking about Grandma Griz?" Quaxo suddenly remembered that funny old queen he'd gawked at at last year's Ball, and Munkustrap gave him an inquisitive look.

"Grandma Griz? Is that what you decided to call her?"

Quaxo shrugged. "I think she'd have liked to have been called that."

"Humph! She hardly deserves the sentiment," dismissed his father. "She didn't care to know you before the Ball. She didn't care about the kittens she abandoned or the ones who died because of it. But alas, all is forgiven now. For me anyway."

"Kittens who died?" Quaxo repeated, looking wide eyed. "You mean, there are more relatives I don't know about?"

Munk nodded slowly. "A brother and sister. I was originally one of five."

"What happened to them?"

The older tom rubbed his forehead and sighed heavily, not wanting to talk about it, but Quaxo's curiosity had been piqued and so he supposed he would have to now. "There was a flood. A burst water main, I believe. Kintano drowned. Pyrrahpavara grew sick and died not long after."

Quaxo looked shocked and saddened. "Dad. You never told me any of this before." No wonder Tugger still harboured bad feelings about his mother.

Munkustrap shook his head. "It's the past. Dwelling on it won't change it."

"Well, it clearly has an impact on uncle Tugger. And it's important to me."

"Because he's a pussy who stubbornly refuses to acknowledge that bearing grudges does nothing but harm oneself. If one cannot forgive, one will forever be stuck in the past, and no amount of drink or drugs will fix that."

"Learning to forgive, whatever the hurt, is the first step on the road to happiness," Quaxo quietly recounted. "That's what Grandpa said, isn't it?"

Munkustrap smiled slightly. "I'm glad you were paying attention. I had to find that one out for myself." He geared himself up for what he was about to say next. He could feel an oh-so rare change of heart coming on. "I understand you have to know about your mother," he stated. "And seeing as I'd rather you heard it from me, than from any gossip you might pick up, I will sit with you and Victoria and we'll discuss it as a family."

Quaxo instantly sat bolt upright. "Really? When?"

"At some point."

"That's too vague! I need a date and a time!" Quaxo jabbed a claw into the wood in line with what he was demanding, which only served to irritate his father more than he already was.

"This isn't something we can just discuss over lunch!"

"And I won't be palmed off! I'm not going to drop this, Dad! I will find out!"

Munkustrap suddenly pictured having to wipe that glorious smile off of his daughter's face... and felt sick. "And we shall both rue that day," he said grimly. "Now, are you going to tell me what a pistol and shooter is? Because, if not, I'll have my money back!"

Quaxo thought for a moment. "Ok," he said compromisingly. "But you have to promise to tell me and Vicky after the ball."

"Yes yes. Fine-!" Munk grumbled.

"The morning after. You'll meet us here to discuss it?"

"Sure. As long as you don't mind me bringing a queen along with me."

"Oh! For the love of Bast!" Quaxo almost face planted the table. "The evening after that then!"

"That would be more convenient. Now, for the last time, what in the goddamn blazes is a pistol and shooter?"

Quaxo cleared his throat, adjusted his bowtie and paused... for considerably longer than was necessary, and all for the purpose of being dramatic (plus another chance to get up his father's nose, seeing as he deserved it anyway), and announced with a flourish, "It's... a computer!"

Munkustrap blinked. "Sorry… what?"

"A computer!" Quaxo repeated. "Pistol and shooter rhymes with computer!"

"You've still lost me."

Quaxo rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah, I forgot you're still stuck in the world of antiques."

"I'll have you know the typewriter serves me very well!"

"Yeah yeah! Once you step out of the Dark Ages-"

"I'll Dark Ages _you_ in a minute…!"

"...you'll find that people are now starting to use this new technology. Come. I'll show you."

Quaxo got up and went over to his bookshelf, then pulled out one of the books. Except it wasn't a book. It was a lever. As soon as he touched it, the entire bookshelf began to move. With a dull creak, it shunted aside, to reveal a large gap in the wall. The gap led to a set of stairs, and at the bottom of the stairs, there was a door. He opened the door and led Munkustrap inside to a large, and fairly noisy, underground bunker. Covering almost every bit of wall space, were large, oblong boxes. Inside some of them, sounds could be heard of things intermittently turning and various switches clicking on and off, where others were open and neatly decorated with various coloured wires, making the whole room look not unlike something Munkustrap had seen in a popular science fiction franchise. Added to that, was the hum of many fans whirring and several dehumidifiers, which Munkustrap guessed were there to keep the place cool and the damp to a minimum.

"It used to be a store room of some sorts," Quaxo explained. "There was never anything down here, so I decided to make use of it."

Munkustrap turned to him. "You built all this yourself?"

The young tom answered straight faced, "Nah, my army of mice did it. Of course I built it myself! Wired every last one of those darned circuit boards by hand." He waved at the piles of transistors, ceramic resistors and capacitors scattered all over the desk in the middle of the room, upon which also sat a grey box and a keyboard.

Meanwhile, Munkustrap was still looking around, curiously touching one or two of the cabinets. "Where did you get all this stuff from?"

"Various auctions and catalogues," Quaxo replied innocently. "Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer were very good at supplying me with tools."

His father laughed. "So, THIS is where all my money's been going?"

"I get a lot from doing my shows as well!" Quaxo pointed out, and then directed his attention to the monitor. "That's an IBM 5160, which is the latest model on the market, but also the most dear. The business that owned it went bust. Unfortunate for them. Lucky for me."

"Must have taken you months," Munkustrap commented, unwilling to admit that he hadn't understood much of what his son had just said. "I don't think I'd have the patience."

"Yeah…" Quaxo shifted awkwardly. It had.

"I'm impressed. Just one question though."

"Yup?"

"What is it?"

Quaxo face palmed. "It's a computer! Bast Almighty!"

"What? The whole thing?"

"I've been trying to figure out a way to scale it down, but yes. The whole thing."

"A computer, you say?" All of sudden Munkustrap's brain buzzed with realisation of what he was looking at. After all, he did have a degree in mathematics! "You mean it… computes? Calculates things? Like the mind?"

Quaxo made a face. "Sort of. Only, it doesn't think for itself. It only does what I programme it to do."

"Can it calculate complicated mathematical equations?"

"You're thinking of a calculator. And yes, it can solve thousands of different equations all at once AND so much more. Can you draw a graph with a typewriter?"

Munkustrap smiled. "Now you have me intrigued."

Quaxo hid a swell of pride he suddenly felt inside his white chest. "Thanks. I call it Sandroid."

"Why?"

Quaxo shrugged. "Dunno. Just like it I guess." He was still reeling. Could it be that his dad was... proud of him?

"No, I mean, why are you naming a machine? It's not like it's got feelings."

In horror, Quaxo placed his paws over the monitor as though to cover its ears. "Of course it's got feelings! How could you say that!"

"Bollocks! I don't give my typewriter a name. Apart from a number of rude ones when it gets jammed. Next, you'll be telling me you've named your litter box."

Quaxo looked shifty, and Munkustrap stared at him as though he had grown a second head.

"Seriously?"

"Could we move on?" Quaxo squeaked.

Munkustrap desperately wanted to grill him further, but realised he was being pushed for time and so merely shook his head and bid his son to get on with it. "Ok. How does it work?"

"You mean, Tabitha?"

Apparently, Quaxo had now grown three heads judging by the look on his father's face. "What?"

"Err… nevermind. Seeing as you're here, perhaps you'd like to do the honours?"

"Honours?"

"Of turning it on."

Munkustrap looked dubious. "I don't like touching things like this. I tend to break them."

"It's perfectly simple," Quaxo insisted. "All you have to do is press this button right here." He pointed to the grey knob at the bottom of the monitor. "Go on. Don't be shy, you big technophobe! It won't attack you, I promise."

The Maine Coon held his finger up to the button, but was still hesitant. "What will happen if I turn it on?"

"Go ahead and find out."

Munkustrap pushed it. All at once there was a gentle whirring noise. Tape reels turned and relays clicked on and off inside their server cabinets as the screen flashed on with a jumble of random letters (at least, that's what it looked like to Munkustrap). And then the whole thing died.

"Oh no! What happened?" Cried Quaxo.

"Er… was it supposed to do that?"

Seemingly unable to hear him, Quaxo started frantically pressing various keys and then hurried over to the UPS cabinet and opened it up. "Oh no no no! I don't believe it! It was working fine yesterday!"

"What's up with it?"

"The gauges are at zero. The power supply has cut out, but…" Quaxo checked the electronics... "luckily, there doesn't appear to be any smoke..."

Munkustrap was pretty sure the malfunction had nothing to do with him, but just in case… "Right. Well… um... while you figure that out, I really have to be getting on…" he started edging towards the door.

"Before you do, could you just pass me that screwdriver?"

"Which one?"

"The pozidriv."

Munkustrap searched the desk and picked one up at random. "This one?"

"Nah, that's the Philips. The one next to it."

Munkustrap picked up a second one and passed it over to him.

"Thanks."

"Is it ok?"

The magician scratched his head. "Dunno… the batteries seem ok. Could be the control board or a bypass failure. I won't know until I take a proper look at it." He smiled apologetically. "Who have you got a date with, by the way?"

"Like I said, it's none of your business!" Munkustrap suddenly looked alarmed. "Speaking of which, what time is it?"

Quaxo briefly stopped what he was doing and gave his paw a swift shake. A brass pocket watch slipped out of his sleeve, springing open in his palm. "Ten to three," he said, clicking it shut and tucking it back inside.

"Ok, well, I really need to be on my way. Sorry I can't stay and help."

Quaxo shrugged. "That's ok." He probably wouldn't have been much help anyway, but he didn't mind spending time with his dad. When he was being nice to him, that is. "I've got all of the ingredients for the medication, so you can probably pick it up in two days time."

"I'll be around then." Taking a deep breath, Munkustrap absentmindedly straightened out his whiskers, feeling strangely nervous all of a sudden, and it didn't go unnoticed by his perceptive son.

"You could at _least_ give me her name," he coaxed. "It _is_ a she, right?"

"Of course it's a she! Jazzie is her name." As Munkustrap said that, he licked his paw and tried to make the fur on the top of his head lie flat, ignoring his son's pointedly raised eyebrows.

"The Doctor? You're onto her already?"

"You make it sound like she's a piece of meat I haven't tried yet!" Munkustrap scorned, finally deciding that the 'post workout look' would have to do.

"That's the truth, isn't it?"

"How dare you! Just because I happen to have a healthy love life, you accuse me of being a philanderer?"

"Not healthy though, IS it, Dad?" Quaxo folded his arms in disapproval and began tapping his foot. "When are you actually going to settle with one queen? I thought you and Demi-?"

He was interrupted by a bark of laughter. And was it his imagination, or did it sound slightly embittered? "Ha! You've been getting whimsical ideas off of that married couple you stay with. Not realising that he's been having it off with his line manager at work."

Munkustrap looked with satisfaction at his son's shocked mein. "You didn't know?"

Quaxo silently shook his head. He had often wondered why his human sometimes came home smelling of another, although he'd never thought to question it. "It-it just seems so... _unlikely._ They always act so happy around me... except, they did start sleeping in separate rooms a while back. I thought it was because the baby was loud and kept the man awake." And he looked so traumatised that Munkustrap reached out and placed a paw on his shoulder, just like his father did with him at certain times.

"I'm sorry to burst that little bubble of yours, Quaxo," he said, half-regrettably. How else to explain to the young lad that life in general was shit and that people tended to treat it as such. All of the things that he himself had had to learn the hard way. "I'm sure the reasons are many and complex, but as long as they're looking after you well?"

Quaxo nodded. "The lady feeds me and the little girl likes to cuddle me. Sometimes, she puts bows in my fur... but I take them straight out again," he quickly added.

"There you are then. No need to worry yourself about their petty affairs," Munkustrap sagely advised. "And besides…" He smiled. "You get on _my_ back about not settling down, but I don't exactly see a queen hanging off of _your_ arm. I daresay it must get lonely in this place with only your machines for company, especially now that Vicky's moved out. Speaking of which, expect her around later."

The black tom blinked dazedly. "Really? Why?"

"I'm not allowed to say. She wants it to be a surprise. Anyway… mustn't keep a lady waiting."

As Munkustrap headed for the door, Quaxo got on with fixing his computer. "Let me know how it goes," he called after him. "And you have a very cynical view on love, by the way!"

"So says Don Juan!"

"Yeah, well," Quaxo speculated. "Maybe this new queen will change things."

"Maybe. I won't know if I turn up late though, will I?" And with that, Munkustrap left the young tom to his tinkering.


	15. She Sells Sea Shells

Alerted by the sound of paper rustling, Jennyanydots lumbered to the office as fast as her cumbersome midriff would allow and peeped in at the door. "Jazzie, dear. What are you doing?"

The Snowshoe didn't look up. "Tidying."

"Oh, no no no!" The Gumbie hurried in, looking flustered. "You can't do that!"

"Why not?"

"Well… I-I-I…" she spluttered. "I might not be able to find anything."

"You can't find anything at the moment," Jazzie complained, as she continued to stack up paper and files. "This place is chaos!"

"It's organised chaos!"

"It's harming patient care! I'm going to organise everything so that we know _which_ paperwork belongs to _which_ patient, and make sure all notes are filed and up to date. Or else, sooner or later, the wrong patient will get the wrong treatment, which would be disastrous. Is that what you want?"

"Well, of _course_ not... but… but… it's never happened before."

"That is not a guaranteed safety net, Jenny! The fact that that HASN'T happened greatly surprises me."

Jennyanydots puffed herself up to her full height, just a tad shorter than Jazzie. "With all due respect, Doctor, but as Matron of this establishment, I really-"

"Ought to have the patients' best interests at heart. I'm sorry to sound brusque, but I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation."

"I-I-I... do-"

"Then you must trust that I know what I'm doing and let me get on with this. You can either help, or else, stay out of my way. You're choice."

"Well, really!" The Matron turned on her heel and marched out of the office, muttering crossley to herself as she did.

Sighing, Jazzie pulled out a chair and sat down heavily at the desk. She'd managed to clear a small space and started to go through one of the huge piles of risk assessments and notes that she'd neatly stacked up.

After about fifteen minutes, she started to yawn. She put the pen down and took off her pince nez. _"Merde!_ I'm so tired!" She groaned, rubbing her eyes.

Sighing again, she picked the pen back up, returned the specs to her nose and carried on writing.

She yawned for a second time.

Her head began to droop. _"Maybe could… lie down… Just for... a minute…"_

* * *

Munkustrap arrived at the Infirmary a full minute before the hour, but almost had a serious collision with a pregnant torbie in his zeal to get to the office. "Good evening, Miss 'Dots," he said good naturedly, catching her before she went A over T. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?"

"Oh, Munkustrap! Thank goodness you're here!"

That was not the cheery response he'd expected. "Is everything alright? What's happened?"

"I was just on my way to see my sister about it!" she cried woefully. "But seeing as you're here-"

"See Jelly about what?"

She started to explain. "It's the Doctor..."

"Who? Jazzie? Is she ok?"

"Yes, she's fine, dear! Oh! You need to come and see!"

As she walked with him, she regaled her grievances. "... don't know how I shall _ever_ find anything… I don't like the way she is changing things…"

"Maybe she's changing things for the better," Munkustrap muttered. "Give her a chance."

They looked in. "Oh my…!" Jenny started to exclaim, but Munkustrap pulled her back out again.

"I'll take care of this. You go and get some rest."

"But-but-!"

"Uh uh!" He held up a paw. "I think those kittens are making you just a tad emotional, wouldn't you say?"

"Well... _perhaps…_ I-"

"...think a lie down would make you feel so much better." He fixed her with a knowing look and she sighed, having to admit that she _was_ exceedingly tired.

"I must say, a lie down _does_ sound good. But what about-?"

"The infirmary is quiet. You only have to lie down for a short while."

"Yes… a short while..."

He gave her a light push towards her sleeping quarters. "Off you go, then."

As soon as she was gone, he quietly entered the office. Seeing the Snowshoe fast asleep, he gently shook her arm. When that failed to produce a reaction, he tried a polite cough. He didn't want to wake her, since there was something endearing about the way her head was resting on her arm, with her pince nez slightly askew, but at the same time-

"Oh!" She cried, sitting up. "I'm so sorry, I must've-!"

"It's ok." He grinned. "I told you you'd be exhausted."

"Oh no! I'm fine-! Honest."

He looked doubtful. "You should rest. We can always meet up another time."

"I'm not that tired," she insisted. "Look-" To prove it, she stood up, and immediately felt herself being helped back into her seat as she came over all light headed.

"Bast!" He exclaimed, as he felt how boney her shoulders were. "When's the last time you ate something?"

"Um… this morning?" She'd heard the dinner bell go off at midnight, but had been too busy to go to the kitchen and had subsequently forgotten about it.

"Ok, tell you what," said Munkustrap, making up his mind. "There's a place nearby. I'll take you there and get you something to eat, then I'll walk you back afterwards. How does that sound?"

He offered her his paw and she took it with a smile. "Sounds good."

"Jazzie? What are you doing?"

They both froze and turned, to see Hortenseya not looking best pleased.

The Snowshoe instinctively snatched her paw out of Munkustrap's, looking sheepish. "I… um… we were…"

"I'm just taking her to get something to eat," he calmly informed the suspicious looking Korat. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Hortenseya was about to open her mouth to explain that she did, in fact, have a major problem with that, when Lucitana appeared, looking as tired as Jazzie felt, but had apparently overheard everything. In her exhausted state, her Galway accent was as broad as ever. "Tense! Lighten up, wid yer? Let the poor beure go have sommat to eat. He ain't gonna hurt her."

"He'd better not!" Hortenseya growled. Then directed a claw at them both. "Be back by sunrise, or I'll come out to find you!" She kept her glare fixed on Munkustrap for some considerable time, until Luci had to forcibly drag her away.

"Come on, you! I'm shook as a hand at mass! I wanna get me some shuteye before I pass out!" She bundled the disgruntled Hortenseya off to their dorm, but not before winking back at Jazzie. "Go on, girl! Have a craic! And be sure to tell us about it later."

* * *

For a fish restaurant, the Seashell of Lisson Grove was certainly no downmarket chippy. From its clock above the door, to its sleek exterior, it boasted a welcoming elegance and familiarity, which had remained largely unchanged since 1965, when it had moved to its location on the corner of Shroton Street, just a stone's throw from the Scrapyard.

Jazzie stared in awe at its smooth Art Deco style surfaces, the chequered marble floor and bold, nautical paintings on the walls. She'd never dreamt of ending up in a place like this, but couldn't help feeling a little out of place, dressed as she was in her doctor's getup!

"Good morning. Have you booked a table?" Asked the waitress.

Munkustrap smiled politely and said that he had.

After checking the name, the waitress escorted them to a table, which was situated next to a huge fish tank, and handed them their menus once they were seated.

"Are you ok?" He asked, offering her some water, before pouring some for himself. She'd hardly said a word since they'd left the Infirmary.

"Yes. Um… I just... didn't realise you were taking me somewhere so fancy!" She chirped, admiring the tropical fish.

"Would you have preferred a greasy spoon?" He suddenly wondered whether this was too much.

"Oh no. I love fish!" She quickly assured him. "I just feel like I ought to be more dressed up, that's all."

He gave her a complimentary smile. "You look lovely as you are."

"Oh." She blushed under her fur. "So do you."

He chuckled. "I've just come from training. I don't usually look this scruffy."

Well, maybe his fur _could_ have done with a bit of a brush, but other than that, he was looking more handsome than ever, wearing a utility belt of sturdy leather that matched his collar quite nicely, and contrasted with his glittering fur. "I quite like the rugged look," she remarked jokingly.

"Aw. Thank you." He tried not to look embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. "So, what are you having?"

Tearing her eyes from him for a moment, she opened up her menu. "Um… I don't know. There's so much choice."

"How about the daily special?" He pointed towards a board that was advertising a sharing platter for two, consisting of the finest catch, fresh from Billingsgate market.

Jazzie didn't look too sure. "Wouldn't that be too much?"

"Well... I'm starving," he admitted. "So probably not."

_"Ah, tant pis!"_ she thought with a smile. "Ok, let's do it!"

After they had ordered the food, something suddenly occurred to her. "Munk?"

"Hm?" He was taking a sip of water, convertly watching her as she glanced around at the fancy restaurant again.

"Is-is this a… a _date?"_

"What did you think it was?"

"I don't know. I've never been on one before."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Did your late… um…?"

"Theos?" She shook her head. "Oh no. He never took me anywhere. I mean… he would take me to pubs and order snacks at the bar and things, but I don't think that really counts."

Munkustrap carefully put down his drink and clasped his paws on the table. "Then, I suppose I have to ask. Do you _want_ this to be a date?"

The question took her by surprise.

"Because... if not, it could also be two friends, simply getting to know each other over some food. I don't want you to think I'm forcing you into anything."

She was quiet for a time, making out that she was mulling over what he had just said, when in actual fact, she was trying to calm her jittering nerves. Finally, she looked at him, her eyes searching his. "Can I ask _you_ a question?"

"Of course."

She took a breath and folded her paws in her lap. "Do you… _like_ me?"

He laughed quietly. And then reached over the table for her paws, which she automatically placed into his. He rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs, and after a minute, confessed, "I think I more than like you."

The tired look in her eyes suddenly disappeared, leaving behind a bright beam of joy. "I think I more than like you too!"

The food arrived a little later, at which point they had begun to talk away about everything and anything. Jazzie couldn't really remember what they talked about, only that she seemed to spend most of her time laughing.

"... All he had to do was learn a word," he was saying. "One, simple word! But _oh _no." He rolled his eyes. "How those two haven't put me in an early grave or vice versa, I'll never know."

"They sound like fun."

"You're quite right. I don't think they've ever taken anything seriously in their lives."

Time went by so quickly, and before she knew it, it was time for them to leave.

"Thank you. That was lovely," she said, as they walked together along the quiet street.

"Good. I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, smiling.

"I don't think I've ever eaten so much lovely food."

"I don't think I've ever eaten in more lovelier company." He offered her his arm, and she took it. It felt so natural, like she'd been doing it for years. She'd loved Theos passionately, but she'd never felt this safe around anyone else before. She held onto him more tightly, and before long, her paw was interlocking with his.

"I don't want to go back just yet," she whispered.

"We can stay out for a bit longer, if you like?" He led her to a nearby building and helped her to climb up.

"It's a bit high!" She said when they were almost to the top, her voice quavering as she nervously peered over the rim of the window ledge, seeing the dizzying blur of the street below.

"It's ok." He had a firm grasp of her paw. He wouldn't let her fall. With the balance of an ibex, he guided her to footholds and grooves in the brick for her claws to latch onto, being her support in case she slipped and murmuring encouragement when her limbs began to ache. And the effort was worth it, because soon after, they were resting on a rooftop, watching the sun slowly rise over the city.

It was markedly cooler up here though.

"You cold?" Noticing her shivering, he wrapped an arm around her. "Better?"

She nodded and nuzzled into his shoulder, letting his tail wrap around her too, like a fluffy, warm scarf. "It's beautiful."

They sat like that for a while, staring at the horizon and the birds beginning to wake up and go about their business. Then she felt him shift a little so that he was turning towards her. Her eyes were drawn to his lips. That serious straight line, that smiled only sometimes and only for certain people. And then to his eyes, and saw that they were locked onto hers, sparkling as though they'd stolen a piece of the flaming sky. She leaned in. He started only slightly, but then reciprocated with a delicate kiss and a gentle stroke of her chin.

"Munk?" She whispered.

"Hm?"

"There is something I need to ask you."

"Yup?"

"Your mate. Does she know about this?"

It took him a few moments to reply. "Demeter is not my mate," he said finally. "We broke up three weeks ago."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "It's all rather depressing, really. I'd much rather talk about you." He gazed at her, unable to believe that this was really happening, and realised there was something he had neglected to ask _her._ "Tell me. Do you go by any other names?"

"Well... my full name is Jazzimoré... but I don't really like it."

He looked surprised. "Why not?"

She made a face. "Only my mother calls me that. My humans named me Claudette, after a physician who supposedly worked for Louis XIV."

"Jazzimoré?" He repeated. "I think it's a beautiful name." He also thought how remarkable it was the way she spoke, the way she had difficulty in pronouncing her 'th's', so that 'mother' came out sounding more like 'muzzer'...

"Really?"

"Yes. Do you mind if I call you that, sometimes?"

She smiled shyly. "Maybe I won't mind so much if _you_ do!"


	16. A Curious Cat

_Warnings of smut, animal sex, biting, mention of drugs, drinking and chain smoking, which I do not condone._

* * *

The couple left the rooftop under the weak golden glow of the morning sun. Once back on the ground, they walked paw in paw, tail looped around tail, taking leisurely backstreets to wind their way home.

The journey seemed to take longer than it had before, and Jazzie's eyes started to feel increasingly heavy, but she didn't dare let on. Words seemed so out of place in these empty streets, but a squeeze of her paw let her know that they didn't have far to go.

He seemed to sense that she was tired, so let go of her paw and placed his arm around her shoulders. And equally, it seemed perfectly natural that she should sneak her's around his waist, her heart quickening when she felt the defined contours of his obliques and the way his muscular hips lightly brushed against her as they ambled along.

The world was their silent haven, save for an ever constant hum, like the distant roar of the sea, permeated occasionally by the throaty coo of pigeons and a dog barking a few streets away.

But as they rounded a corner, their peace was shattered.

Music. It's thrumming rhythm and rumbling baseline pervading from a nearby pub, The Traders Inn.

"It looks like my brother's at it again," he said. "We'll try to sneak past if we can. Unless you want to go in, of course?"

She looked at him, not quite understanding. "Your brother?"

"He usually has his after-parties in there. He'll be off his trolley, no doubt, but if you want to meet him quickly? I have some things I need to discuss with him."

She nodded eagerly, widening her eyes to not look so tired. "Yes, ok."

* * *

"Here's your drink, sir," said the barmaid, plonking a brimming glass on the bar and collecting the customer's change. "This is the last one I'm serving you."

"Yeah alright, sweetheart. I'll have this one, then one more." The dark Maine coon sitting on the bar picked up the glass and drained its entire contents, before pushing it back at her, indicating he wanted more.

He'd been gigging at a nearby club and had stopped in at the local on his way home. Almost three hours ago. All the excitement and adrenaline, they were hard drugs to come down from. How was he meant to sleep?

The senior queen, a buxom ginger patched Scottish fold, leaned on the bar and fixed him with a disapproving look. "I mean it, Tugger. Go home!"

"How do you make any business, turning customers away, eh Bessida?" He flashed her a grin, showing his perfectly whitened teeth. "What you doing later?"

"Washing my fur." She didn't smile.

"Mind if I wash it for you? I do a rather fine all-over, if I say so myself." He licked his paw and tactically smoothed his perfectly styled quiff as he said that, but the barmaid remained unmoved.

"I'll be fine doing it myself, thanks. I'd rather not smell of stale alcohol."

"That's my personal favourite. But if you'd rather suit yourself..."

"I intend to."

The tom jumped down and moved towards the door, surprisingly steadily for one apparently so drunk. "Bast almighty, this place is stuffy!" He complained. "Anyone else think it's stuffy?"

"It's probably your ego," the barmaid snorted.

"Perhaps, Missus, perhaps. It is a cross I am obliged to bear, lest the unworthy pauper shall suffer. I daresay the air coming from _your_ impressive behind must be like oxygen to the hungry woodworms devouring your ceiling. Who's gonna join me outside for a smoke, eh?"

"Actually babe, I'd quite like to head home. I've work at five," said Bombi, who often accompanied him to gigs when she wasn't doing her own.

"You can't go yet, babe! Party's just getting started!"

"The party was over three hours ago!"

"Not by my watch. What time scale are you using?"

She gave him the finger. "Greenwich Mean BYE, Tugger!" She was tired of watching him flirt with almost every other queen but her. NOW he wanted her to stay?

As she, Cassandra and a few others pushed their way out of the door, Tugger spotted a familiar tom. As usual, he had his arm draped around… whoa! WHAT was THAT?!

Bombi meanwhile, was looming over the newcomer like a hawk, looking her up and down, her lip slowly curling in disgust. _"This_ is her?"

"This is her."

"A bit young for you, isn't she?"

Munkustrap said nothing. He couldn't look at her. And under the lethal gaze, Jazzie's ears went back and she instinctively shrank against him, noticing his tail was stiff and low to the ground, almost between his legs. What was going on?!

Bombi's paws clenched as though fighting not to strike something. Most likely, it would be Munkustrap, but even so, his paw moved protectively to Jazzie's hip, just in case.

This seemed to anger the rufus queen even more and Jazzie flinched as she raised her fist, only to be stopped by a soft hiss as Munkustrap gently edged her behind him. "Leave it, Bombi."

His voice was calm, but with a note of steel about it and his eyes were now fixed on Bombi's. The tension could have been cut with an icy blade and for a moment, Jazzie feared there would be a full scale fight.

Bombalurina looked just about ready to kill. She stepped in closer, until her lips were level with his. "I hope she makes you happy!" was all she spat, before shouldering passed him and flouncing away down the street with her head held high and her hips angrily swinging.

The other queens flashed jealous glances as they retreated after her, slinking away one by one until they had all disappeared, leaving Jazzie to wonder what in Heaviside she had let herself in for.

That was until she noticed the second large Maine Coon, leaning against the doorframe, looking at her with intense intrigue. "I see you and Demi are back on."

"Leave it out, Tugger!" Munkustrap shot his brother a black look, then quietly whispered to Jazzie. "I'm sorry, this was a mistake. Let me take you back."

"Hey! Where you going?!"

"Home."

"Alright then, be like that," Tugger huffed. "Although it's very rude of you to turn up and just leave without introducing me to your… friend." He winked at her. "Say, missus? Fancy doing some tease for me, baby? I'll make it worth your while."

Jazzie felt Munkustrap's grip on her tighten, almost possessively, and felt those familiar butterflies again as he ignored his obviously rat arsed brother and carried on guiding her away, only to have the dark Maine coon step in front of them. "Hey, look bud. I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong? Lemme buy you a drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Wasn't asking you, was I?" The tom's light amber eyes scanned Jazzie all the way down to her dainty white feet and back up again, and if it had been anyone else, she would have hissed and told them to _"Foutre le camp" _for being so crude, but there was something oddly charming about the way he openly admired her.

If Munkustrap was the silver tiger, here was a black panther; styled and sleek like a Ferrari.

Everything about him was perfect, from his chiseled physique, to his lopsided grin, to his immaculately combed mane of gold and leopard spots and everything else down to his leather jacket, gilded cowboy boots and strategically placed studded belt. Even his black body fur had been expertly clipped to show off his rosette markings, which gleamed through his coat when the sunlight hit them just right, but where invisible the rest of the time.

"I wouldn't mind a drink," she said with a pleasant smile. "Except there's been a mix-up. I am no longer in the line of work you're referring to."

Before the striking tom could say more, she let go of Munkustrap and held out her paw. "Doctor Jazzimoré LeSoigneur. Although, you may call me Jazzie. In fact, I'd prefer it."

The tom took her paw. "Rum Tum Tugger. Pleasure. Obviously, I knew you were a doctor. My appalling sense of humour has caused many a simpleton to lie on the floor and howl like some poor wounded bloodhound."

"I wouldn't normally be out dressed in my work clothes," she explained, looking adoringly at Munkustrap… "but our date was a last minute thing."

"I cannot get OVER that accent!" He exclaimed. "You sound like you come from somewhere exotic. Somewhere far off and mystical."

She smiled. She didn't know what, but there was SOMETHING about him. The way his smooth voice washed over her like hot brandy and stirred up heat inside her center and caused her brain to turn to mush. NOW she understood his power over people. What had crowds, and even her own dearly departed Theos, so idolised. It was pure black magic. "Paris _is_ pretty magical," she sighed.

"Paris, eh? Yeah... I've been there."

"Really? Which parts?"

"Oh…" He shrugged. "Chomp Alley... Tower of Pizza…"

Jazzie had to fight not to snort.

"... you name it, babe. In fact, why don't you sit down, let me buy you a drink and we can chat more about where I _haven't_ been?"

He waggled a sharp eyebrow and she looked at Munk, who pursed his lips, indicating it was her choice. Which kind of made it hard, because all she wanted to do at that moment was crawl inside his big arms and stay there, but that beguiling something about Rum Tum Tugger made her not want to say no.

She quietly sat down at one of the wooden picnic tables. Surely one drink wouldn't hurt, plus a chance to get to know her late lover's idol once and for all. She could only imagine the look of envy on his face, had he been there.

Meanwhile, with his heavy brows almost knitted together, Munkustrap proceeded to take a long, controlled breath in and out, a process to try to ease the sudden urge he felt to flex his claws. Violence was never a way to make a good impression and he didn't want to dampen her enthusiasm, let alone frighten her and ruin their morning. But all the same, the rapidly sinking lead inside his gut was impossible to ignore.

"I thought you were heading home," Tugger said to him, completely disregarding the swinging of the other's tail.

"Changed my mind."

"It's ok, you don't have to stay. If you're... _tired_ of boring the young thing out of her snow boots, I'm sure she'd understand."

"I seem to have developed a raging thirst all of a sudden."

Knowing he wasn't going to get rid of his brother that easily, Tugger immediately changed his manner to one of forced gratitude and waved him away. "Well, I was about to offer, but seeing as you've beaten me to it, I'll have half a lager, cheers mate." He took the opportunity to hop in beside Jazzie. "And for the lady?"

They both gazed expectantly at Jazzie, reminding her of a couple of lions eyeing up their prey. Swallowing, she discovered that her throat was dry, and what had happened to her voice? "I'll have a small glass of red, please," she managed croakily, feeling the need for something stronger to calm her nerves, but the wine would suffice.

Munkustrap just grunted something and went inside. His shoulders were puffed up and his barred tail was spiked at the tip, but everything about his minor standoff with the glamorous russet queen had caused her to feel heat between her legs. She quickly fused them together and tried to think about something else, but it was hard when she had an equally attractive male practically squashed against her, crooning honey into her ear and not-so-subtly stroking her backside with his equally long and lionesque appendage. "So? You're a _real_ doctor?"

"Uhu."

"You're not just dressed like that to tantalise a poor tom out of his hard won sterling?"

"Er… nope. Like I said, I'm not a stripper."

"I don't believe you. I feel like I need to take a look at your credentials."

"I can book you in for a health check anytime you like."

"Oh, I can assure you, miss, I'm very healthy. As you can probably tell." As he said that, he was delving into the inner pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a black leather tobacco pouch. He deftly rolled himself a cigarette, which he put to his lips and lit with a black Zippo lighter that had a Rolling Stones emblem on it.

She laughed nervously, wafting away the smoke. "I can't deny that." He was probably the most handsome tom she'd ever seen. Well, apart from Munkustrap. She couldn't help but wonder what their parents looked like to produce such astonishingly gorgeous children.

"Did it hurt, babe?" His question snapped her out of her thoughts.

"Hm?" She leaned closer. "Did what hurt?"

"Did it hurt?" He repeated, his face completely deadpan.

_"What_ did?!"

"When you fell from the Heaviside?"

She frowned. "I'm sorry, I don't-"

"Cos I think you accidentally ripped some stars out of the sky. They're sat right there. Looking back at me." He took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth. "How the Hell are you with Stiff Britches and not me, eh?"

A smile tugged on her lips. "I don't know what you mean. The tom you refer to as 'Stiff Britches' is the one who rescued me and my friends."

"Yeah yeah, I know all about that." He flicked ash into the ashtray. "All that trouble just to pick up some chicks? Geesh! That guy works too hard. But then, I suppose that's what you have to do when you're not me."

"What were you saying about me?" Munkustrap suddenly appeared with the drinks.

"Oh... er... just saying how you need to take it easy, bro. You know. Take some rest."

"Take some rest," Munkustrap repeated. "Now wouldn't _that_ be something." He handed his brother his lager and Jazzie her wine.

Tugger drank half the glass. Then he frowned. "Wait a minute. How did you manage to get Bess to serve me?"

Munkustrap sat opposite them, all three tucking up their feet in a most feline manner. "I didn't. I said the beer was mine."

"Do you not drink?" Jazzie had wondered about the lack of wine at dinner, but hadn't said anything about it.

Munkustrap sipped his water, his tiger eyes on Tugger. "Not when I'm on duty."

"Which, roughly translated, means he can't handle his booze," Tugger interjected, placing a casual arm around Jazzie's shoulders and taking another drag on his cigarette. "You see, when we start drinking, it tends to turn into a bit of a competition, don't it, bro?"

Shavings of wood were curling around Munkustrap's claws. He would have killed for a drink. The trouble was, it didn't tend to mix well with high levels of testosterone, especially when another male was sitting so close to the queen of his recent dreams. "I can handle my _booze_ perfectly well. But unfortunately, _someone_ has to stay relatively sober to make sure _you_ don't accidentally kill yourself."

"What you on about?" Tugger scoffed. "We've had good times and I haven't died!"

"Funny how we both remember the same incidences differently." The pub crawl of three weeks ago had seemed like a good idea to his brokenhearted self, and had been the last time Munkustrap had done any serious drinking. Never again.

Meanwhile, Jazzie had finished her wine in about two mouthfuls and set about extricating herself from Tugger and the reek of his tomliness mixed with stale tobacco and alcohol. "Excuse me. I just need to… um… go to the ladies."

Tugger winked. "Rush back, babe."

"So?" His eyes followed Jazzie's rapidly retreating rear as she disappeared inside the darkness of the pub. "Lucky tom, eh?"

"I'd like to think there was more than luck involved." Munkustrap waved away the proffered hand rolled cigarette.

"Cool." Tugger absentmindedly lit what was now his second cigarette and stowed the tobacco pouch inside his jacket pocket. "Fucked her yet?" That earned him a look of weariness, as though the hackneyed question had been foreseen.

"I only met her three days ago."

"And?"

"I haven't had a chance to get to know her yet."

"Since when was that an issue?"

Munkustrap gave him a withering look. "Because, unlike you, I only sleep with queens I have feelings for!"

"Oh yeah, I forgot how much you love to drag things out. Not as much fun as you used to be. At least, those were the words Cassie used. Well, not _exactly_ those words, but that was the gist of what she was harping on about until I shoved my cock down her throat. Crikey, that girl can talk when she has something to whine about. Gives a mean blow job though…"

He caught Munkustrap's glare. "Oh sorry. Must have wandered off. Not that you're boring me or nothing. Well, you _are,_ but go on."

"It's been less than three days," Munkustrap carried on, refusing to rise to the bait, since it was like water off a duck's back to him. "But I think I'm serious about this one."

Tugger sniggered. "You mean it's only been three days and she hasn't figured out you really _are_ a grumpy old sod, it's not just an act you put on to make you look hard?"

"She doesn't seem like she would mind, even if she _did_ know," Munkustrap said thoughtfully, more to himself. "I didn't treat her right in the beginning. I feel like she's giving me another chance. Which is why I wanted to do something for her. Something special."

"You mean fuck her until she can't walk?"

"Why is it always about sex with you!?"

Tugger held up his paws. "Hey, it's not _my_ fault she's dressed the way she is!"

Munkustrap growled, daring him to say something else. "Dressed like WHAT, exactly?! In what retarded part of your mind did you ever think I'd be desperate enough to hire a stripper?"

Tugger shrugged. "Why not? I do it all the time. And anyway, I thought you said that was what she did?"

"She was FORCED to do it, Tugger!"

"Oh yeah..." Tugger suddenly remembered.

Turning on the cold tap, Jazzie liberally splashed her face a number of times, before drying herself on the cotton hand towel. Stopping at the mirror, she took a moment to stare at her reflection, remembering why she usually avoided doing so. She didn't care to be reminded of how ashamed she was of her markings. Of how empty her heart was and how hollow her eyes looked. But, then again, Tugger seemed to like her and that made her smile; something she had almost forgotten how to do.

It was a kind of giddiness one gets when in the presence of a superstar. He was so cool and suave, and not to mention mysterious. There was something about the way he paused before spilling loquacious repartee out of his mouth that made him seem at odds with reality. Like he was an actor and the world was his stage. It was a curious thing, and she was struck by how two closely related cats could be as different to each other as chalk and cheese. Munkustrap was nothing like that.

She gave a sigh as she thought of him. He didn't need to pretend, because he already stood out; majestic and confident. His mere presence spoke louder than his words, and now that she was away from him and from Tugger's seductive energy, it was his striped embodiment that captured her thoughts. The sensation of his charcoal paws encasing hers; his whiskery lips, his body; his smell.

Taking a short breath, she exited the ladies' room and walked through the dingy pub, and was about to go back outside, when she caught part of their conversation through the glass door.

"So, this thing. I was thinking more along the lines of something that'll last," Munkustrap was saying.

"Babies."

"Not just that!" Though he couldn't deny he _hadn't_ thought about her carrying his kittens… only about a hundred times since he'd laid eyes on her. Somehow, he just knew she'd make a wonderful mother and it sickened him to think that someone had taken that away from her. What had she done to deserve such a cruel thing? Nothing, that was what; apart from caring for others! Well, one thing _was_ certain. The perpetrator wasn't going to get away with it!

A dull, brittle '_crack!'_ interrupted his thoughts.

"You know, you're gonna wreck that seat if you're not careful? Either that, or the seat's gonna wreck your paw, either one of the two." Tugger was reclining across the weathered bench as though it were a luxury couch, looking cooley unconcerned about the fact that Munkustrap had partly broken his section. "What you thinking about anyway?" His smirk widened. "Let me guess. It starts with 'p' and ends in 'y'?_"_ He thrust his hips suggestively, even though it was blindingly obvious what he meant.

"Shut up!" Munkustrap glared, although he couldn't quite keep the slight smile off his face, and Tugger knew he'd struck a weak spot.

"Oh get _you,_ being all Romeo and Juliet. You gonna write her a Spenserian sonnet or something?"

Munkustrap stared at his water glass, really wishing there was something stronger in it. "Sort of have."

The confession was greeted by a look of mild incredulity, as though Tugger had just been told some rather underwhelming news. "Wow. That's deep, bro. _Really_ deep. How very Prince Charming, slash Julio Inglesias. I may very well waltz into Selfridges later and vomit into one of their Gucci handbags. You never so much as made a scribble for Demi and you were apparently in love with her for HOW long?"

"You're a fine one to be lecturing me about women!"

What annoyed him most was that Tugger was right. Munkustrap had written songs for a number of queens over the years, including a few for Bombalurina in the early months of their adolescent courtship. However, in the nine months since she, Demi and he had been a Triad, not one word had been written. "The words came to me out of nowhere. I scrawled them on the back of an envelope in about five minutes," he admitted. "It just needs a melody."

"I can almost hear it." Tugger sucked on his umpteenth fag, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Contains a lot of gently weeping guitar... perhaps a few well placed violins. It'll cost you, though, bro."

"How much?" Munkustrap had a feeling he knew where this was going.

"Hmm." Tugger stubbed his fag out in the ashtray, which was now brimming with putrid grey filth. "How about a peek inside her batcave?"

Munkustrap had to fight not to snarl. "Abso-fucking-lutely NOT!"

"Oh, come on! Just a little lick!" Tugger grinned satisfactorily at the blazing fury in his brother's eyes. It was like poking an injured bear with a pointy stick, only a lot less dangerous and twice as gratifying.

"How about an eighth?" Munk growled.

"An eighth and a taste of her cherry."

Munkustrap expelled a huff of air through his nose, the urge to reach over the table and clamp his paw around his brother's gullet so very tempting. He thought his spiked collar would protect him? He'd love to prove him wrong. "Forget it."

All of a sudden, Tugger burst into fits of howling laughter, slapping his thigh in a theatrical display of mirth that echoed way down the street and caused several pigeons to take off in a loud clatter of wings. "Dude, I was kidding!" He wheezed. "You really think I'd steal my brother's queen like some desperate parasitic worm?"

Munkustrap grumbled. "It wouldn't be the first time."

The laughter immediately stopped. "Hey! How can you say that? I done you a favour! You can't handle queens, so I take them on for you! I get my head messed with so you don't have to, and yet you remain eternally ungrateful!"

"You're full of shit, you know that?"

Tugger smiled, dropping the hurt facade like he was removing a mask. "An eighth it is. Be around next week sometime."

_"A song?"_ Jazzie thought excitedly. _"He's written a song... for ME?" _

He obviously wanted it to be a surprise, so she couldn't let him know that she knew. But then he mentioned drugs and her mind was confused. She'd seen them being used and sold at the club, and had even been forced to do some herself; and so she knew very well what an 'eighth' was.

She listened for as long as she dared, then saw Tugger smile, noticing her standing at the door. Munk turned and smiled too and she knew she'd been rumbled.

"You ok?" He asked as she sat beside him, immediately putting his arm around her. "Want another drink?"

"We should be heading back." She grimaced apologetically, remembering Hortenseya's threat. It was well past dawn now.

"Of course. I wouldn't want your friend giving you Hell because of me."

Munkustrap inwardly groaned as his brother began to saunter along with them, swinging his tail and prattling away in Jazzie's ear about how wonderful he was, while the sweet thing listened with an attentiveness and impeccable politeness that wouldn't normally have had him silently fuming, but it was a scene that had been played out many a time before. He told himself if he lost another queen to his brother, it would be no great loss. It was simply not meant to be.

However, his face was as wooden as the bench he'd partly vandalized, feeling undeniably disappointed that even _she_ was not immune to the Devil's charms. Or perhaps she was just very, very naive.

Either way, he couldn't help but wonder what people saw in him. Couldn't they see he was talking out of his backside most of the time, and all for the purpose of luring them into a quick liaison that lasted as long as his infantile attention span?

He gritted his teeth. If it had been any other tom, he would be flying halfway down the street with his dignity in tatters by now! But this was his brother. Despite his grievances, he was someone he both loved and hated in equal measure, and protected and put up with, and the other had no idea of the damage he caused or the pain he inflicted. Or maybe he did, and that was why he did it.

Munkustrap quietly sighed, remembering their fight three weeks ago and subsequent near death escapade. Neither had dampened his spirit at all.

As they walked further along Church Street, passing tarpaulin covered market stalls that would remain vacant for the day, seeing as it was a Sunday, a couple of queens approached, coming the other way. As they brushed passed, one slipped something into Munkustrap's paw. No words were exchanged, and since he was now apparently invisible, no one noticed him calmly slip the item into his belt, before carrying on as if nothing had happened.

But Tugger definitely noticed one of the queens batting her eyes, and his golden ones practically popped out of their sockets. "Alright folks, I've… er... got some important business to see to," he said, suddenly distracted. "I'll… um... catch you laters, yeah? Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" And he disappeared after the queens, leaving Munkustrap and Jazzie alone.

They walked on for about ten heartbeats, neither saying anything. With every moment that passed, the silence became increasingly uncomfortable, and Jazzie became more convinced that something was up. Not knowing what to say, she drifted off into her own thoughts, thinking about something Tugger had said that made her chuckle. "Tower of Pizza..."

She caught Munkustrap's eye, earning the trace of a smile. Then he laughed and she did too, secretly going weak at the sound of that dry, rich baritone of his. "I can't believe he mistook me for a stripper!" She gasped.

"Sadly, _I _can."

As soon as she stopped laughing, that was when it hit him. "Oh no no no! I didn't mean…"

"It's ok." She lightly touched his arm. "He's a lot of fun. I like him."

Munkustrap's expression darkened.

It was as though the clouds had suddenly rolled in and blotted out the sun, as though a different person was walking beside her. Kind Munkustrap; the individual who was gracious and sweet, funny, rational and incredibly smart, was gone, and had been replaced by the emotionally cold and stoic character she'd seen before, and her mouth dried up with guilt as she fumbled for something to say that would repair the situation.

"I... I like _you_ better." Tentatively, she slipped her paw into his and felt him grip it tightly.

Letting out the breath he'd been apparently holding, he stopped and turned to face her, and she immediately understood that he wasn't angry at all, but just extremely upset. His eyes were like deep pools of sadness, yet the smile lines around them showed he had a lot of love to give, and she felt pity in her heart, just like she had on the first night.

"You sincerely mean that?"

She nodded, practically melting. She didn't think anyone could pull doe eyes quite like the ones he was giving her, but that was the only way to describe the look coming from a tom who dwarfed her by comparison. "I do."

She hadn't noticed before how long his eyelashes were. And what she'd thought were natural marks on his face were actually small scratches and scars, each with its own story to tell. She ran her fingers across the one on his jaw, tracing her thumb over it. He bent down so she could reach a little better, letting out a long breath at the touch of her fingers. Then he reached up to catch hold of her paw and held it there, planting a kiss on her wrist. "I hope that's true."

It was a mere featherlight brush, but that was all it took to make her resolution crumble and she buried her paws in his head fur and all but smashed her lips into his. They were soft and hungry, tasting of fish and vinegar, which she quite liked; her teeth biting on his lower lip and causing him to let out a very small moan. His whiskers tickled her face and she began to purr, teasing him with her tongue and he gladly opened up, letting her have her little explore, his tongue slow dancing with hers.

She came up for air, and he could only stare back at her, quite lost for words.

Something had changed in her. There was a want. An unspoken need. And a green light for him to capture her mouth again, and this time, her paw slipped towards the nape of his neck, pulling him down; or at least, she gave the signal and he obeyed. His paws covered her back, then one came around her waist, pulling her closer, which she was grateful for, because her knees were shaking.

Her fingers slipped down to the crook of his shoulder, and then to his chest, her mouth planting soft kisses underneath his collar.

It felt like his heart was beating out of his chest. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? "You know, that's a very dangerous thing to do," he warned, his voice deep and sensuous.

"You want me to stop?"

He nipped the side of her jaw, his mouth leaving a hot trail all the way down to her throat. "This is a bad idea."

"Please. I want you."

He wanted her too, but here was a little too public. "I know a place."

He grabbed her paw and they started walking, almost running. They didn't speak any words. He tried to think of all the reasons why they shouldn't be doing this. Why he shouldn't be leading her where he was leading her to, but the sight of his brother trying to flirt with her had nearly pushed him over the edge.

The urge to pin her up against the nearest wall was so strong, and he knew she probably wouldn't have objected, but he had to make this at least halfway special. He owed her that.

After a short hop over some garden walls, they found themselves in a secluded garden of a derelict house, less than a stone's throw from the main street. While the other gardens were well kept and manicured, this one had been left to grow wild, shaded by trees and ivy, the grass left to grow long and invaded by lavender and Queen Ann's Lace like a flower meadow, thick with their perfume, along with the smell of damp earth and just a slight whiff of fox, but not enough to be overpowering. The garden had clearly been well cared for once, for there was a pond in the middle which was covered with lilies and forget me nots bursting around it. And crucially, it was quiet, save for the chirp of sparrows and the rustle of a hedgehog somewhere nearby.

It was a little exposed and not at all what he'd had planned, but in that moment, it didn't seem to matter. He led her over to the pond, where an old willow tree grew, sweeping its branches into the still, dark water. And nestled underneath it was a bench, secured comfortably in the hollow of its gnarly trunk.

Letting go of her paw, he quickly took off his belt and dropped it on the bench. "We don't have long. Are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded and started to unbutton her dress. She unclipped her waistband and he helped her pull the dress over her head, slinging it next to his leather garment, before taking a seat, his eyes taking her in, a ravenous desire shining in them, like some untamed beast had awoken and she felt herself getting wet as she anticipated him.

He reached out and caught her paw, pulling her closer until she was straddling his lap, recapturing his lips in a deep kiss and quickly rekindling the fire. Her paw rested on his shoulder, while the other explored his expansive chest and toned stomach, feeling an ache in her heart as she ran her fingers through his thick coat and found his skin to be riddled with bumps and other tell tale traces left by claws and Bast knew what else. Bending down, she began to plant soft kisses on them, while his huge paws found their way to her hips, hesitant as his fingers settled near her nether regions.

He looked into her eyes to check it was ok, and her soft moan told him it was. Twice her size, he lifted her with the utmost care and settled her onto the moss covered ground, making sure a curtain of reeds surrounded them and hid their activities from prying eyes.

He kissed and traced the mottled pattern of her velvet coat with his mouth, lavishing her with small kitten licks and the occasional nip, causing her to arch and writhe beneath him, her fingers tightening and tugging on his fur as he moved lower and lower, until his tongue tickled her sex and she was heaving and shaking.

Her skin was on fire, her body alive with want, and she could feel her arousal trickling between her legs, her walls pulsing around nothing. "Munk! Munk, please!"

He looked up, worry etched on his face. "Did I do something wrong?"

Oh, those doe eyes again! They looked so wounded, like he was a kitten who thought he'd done something bad! "No." She reached for him. "I just want you here."

"You sure?"

She nodded, and he moved over her, his eyes black with lust. "I'm not going to last long."

"Me neither." She held onto his broad back, his body covering her and his weight pressing down as she felt something pushing into her.

"Fuck me, you're tight!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant."

His voice was gruff and breathless, and she could only whimper into his neck in reply as she felt the stretch and the sharpness of spines pricking her insides, but it was the best kind of pain, making her claws dig into his shoulder blades. He pushed until he was fully sheathed inside her, panting and shaking with the effort of remaining in control. "You ok? I'm not hurting you?"

"Yes! But don't worry... it's fine!"

She could feel his heart thrumming against hers, his breath warm and wet against her cheek. She cupped his face, tenderly stroking back his ears as she gazed into his eyes, seeing wonder and affection in them, as well as something more primeval that was fighting to be unleashed. She brought him down for a kiss and then rolled her hips against his, encouraging him to move and dragging a rumbling moan from his lips. With his cheek pressed against hers, he began to gently thrust, slow and steady. She could feel every inch of him, his spines stroking her on the inside, igniting a fire in the pit of her stomach and setting her whole being ablaze.

She had never felt anything like this. Not from any of the toms who'd forced themselves on her, or even Theos, who'd been inexperienced and unused to the workings of a female. But Munkustrap seemed to have more knowledge of her body than even she did, seeming to know just how to move and where to put his fingers to create the most pleasurable sensations. She found herself in awe of him as she moved against him, her legs wrapping around him, feeling another sharp pain as he bit into her shoulder, the primordial part of him finally taking over, his teeth drawing blood. She could feel her desire growing inside her, her own claws embedded in his mane, reminding them that sex between cats could be a dangerous thing. The sharp bolt of pleasure made her arch and cry for more, while Munkustrap grunted and gasped, thrusting faster. Then he reached between them and dipped an index finger into her sex, gently stroking her clitoris until ecstasy filed through her brain, statically charging through her body as the walls of her vagina contracted around him, fully aware that she was vocalising the extreme sensations she was feeling, not that she cared that anyone heard.

"Can I cum in you?" Like he needed permission!

"Oui…!"

He let out another moan and his movements grew more haphazard, his voice rising until at last he stilled and she felt the warm release deep inside her, the wetness running down her legs.

He rested on top of her, breathing hard. His fur was smothering her face, but she didn't mind. His scent was intoxicating, like the smell of her favourite food, except it was warm, almost woody, and filled with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood.

"Got carried away," he mumbled. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine." She lifted his head and stroked his face, then planted a kiss on his lips. "Je t'aime, Munkustrap."

"I love you, too."

They stayed wrapped around each other for long moments, just breathing, listening to each other's heartbeats and the mingled vibrations of their contented purring. She felt like she could stay like that forever and she would be perfectly happy. "We should get back," she said. "Tensey will be going ape."

Munkustrap only nodded, then carefully pulled out, causing them both to gasp as his spines got one last chance to rake her. Then he quickly looked around for something to clean them up with.

"Here." Jazzie fetched her dress and reached into the pocket, then triumphantly held up a restaurant serviette. "I thought this would come in handy."

He smirked. "Anyone would think you planned this."

After she wiped herself down, he proceeded to do the same with the rumpled up napkin, while she picked bits of grass out of her fur and quickly buttoned up her dress. "Nobody should be any the wiser," she said, as she smoothed out the creases.

Having buckled up his belt, he looked at her, starting to smile, but then noticed something. Tilting her head to the side, he clicked his tongue at the sight of the bloody marks at the base of her neck. "I'm not so sure."

She pulled her collar over them, secretly relishing the tenderness. "You didn't exactly get away unscathed either." She pointed out the pin pricks on his shoulders, but he just glanced at them and shrugged. "I take them as a compliment."

She came to him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. "Et vous devriez donc, Monsieur. Tu m'as bien baisé."

His paws gently held her and he planted a kiss on top of her head. "And there we have the reason I didn't want you to speak French. It's not because you're French."

"Why then?"

"Because it turns me on!"

She giggled. "I wish I'd known that!"

"And I was rude because… well, I'm an asshole and I knew I liked you and… Fuck, I should never have done that to you."

She looked up. "What do you mean?"

"Our union needs to be blessed by my father before we can take it any further. I'm dead if the Council finds out."

"I won't tell if you don't." She smiled coyly, but still, he didn't want her to think he made a habit of breaking the rules.

"It's a ridiculous law," he sighed. "Extremely difficult to impose…"

"Especially when the enforcer doesn't abide by it." She had to agree it seemed like a harsh rule, but figured the council had its reasons and so she'd have to get used to it.

"It's strange," she said, leaning her head on him again.

He looked down at her, his eyes shining as they studied her features, taking in every inch of her beauty. "What is?"

"How I hated you three days ago, and now, I feel like I've known you my whole life."

"Well, not to sound cliche, but I've been crazy about you since the moment I saw you. I was hoping to take you on a second date. You've somewhat messed up my plans!"

She looked up to meet his gaze. "We can still do that. What do you say to doing the same thing tomorrow? Maybe we could see a show or something?"

He nodded. "I'd like that. Any show in particular? The Cockpit sometimes has some good things on. Or there's The Globe? Or the Opera House? I don't know what you like."

"I'm not fussy." She didn't really care what she saw as long as it was with him. "There are a few singers I admire. Elisabeth Schwarzkopf and Birgit Nilsson to name a few. And you, of course."

He smiled, his whole face lighting up. "Then the Opera House it is."


End file.
